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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832483">Garnet's MCYT Advent 2020 :3</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetsAndRoses/pseuds/GarnetsAndRoses'>GarnetsAndRoses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Actors, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Arctic Empire Ranboo, Arctic Empire Tommy, Baking, Blizzards &amp; Snowstorms, Bonding, Candy Canes, Carl the Horse, Christmas Cards, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Crackers, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Lights, Christmas Movies, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Shopping, Christmas Tree, Christmas market, Coffee, Cooking, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crying, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Fireworks, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Heavy Angst, Home for Christmas, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, IRL Fic, Implied Skephalo, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Depression, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020, Male Friendship, Mistletoe, Movie Night, Mulled wine, NORAD Santa Tracker, Naughty or NIce - Freeform, No Beta We Die Like Wilbur in Skyblockle, One Shot Collection, Ornaments And Decorations, Party, Post-Apocalypse, Presents, Real Life, Realm of Mianite, Reindeer, Secret Santa, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Stockings, Team as Family, Trauma, Turkey - Freeform, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade are Siblings, Winter, Wreath, Wreath making, Younger Sibling Grayson | Purpled (Video Blogging RPF), anyways peppermint is the best flavor of candy cane, friendly teasing, gingerbread, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, the great candy cane flavor debate rears its ugly head, tommy in exile what will he do</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:55:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetsAndRoses/pseuds/GarnetsAndRoses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>My 24 days of prompts for the MCYT Advent Calendar! It's my first time trying any challenge like this so the fics will be short and sweet.</p><p>PSA: This is rated Gen because it'll be mostly fluff, but some angst and death will show up and it will be warned for in the chapters that feature it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Christmas Market</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>damn, is it GarnetsAndRoses actually writing fluff for once in her godforsaken life? yep! i'm gonna make 24 of these fics, one each day and about 1k words each. it's gonna be light and wholesome for most of the advent calendar prompts, but there could be some angst :3</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1st day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Purpled, Punz, and Ponk (who I have loving dubbed the "GrouP Chat" go to a Christmas market.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Purpled stared down at this phone and the stream of unread messages pouring into his inbox. Sighing, he opened the first group chat, which was probably the most urgent.</p><p>
  <b>grouP chat:</b>
</p><p>
  <b>punz: hey me and ponk are driving towards the market</b>
</p><p>
  <b>8:45 AM</b>
</p><p>
  <b>punz: wait he says to correct it to “ponk and i”</b>
</p><p>
  <b>8:46 AM</b>
</p><p>
  <b>punz: anyway where r u?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>8:46 AM</b>
</p><p>
  <b>purpled: omw, i’m on the bus</b>
</p><p>
  <b>8:57 AM</b>
</p><p>The teen stared out of the frosted window of the aforementioned bus as it puttered its way towards the Christmas Market currently stationed across multiple streets of the city’s downtown. Sounds of laughter stretched across the biting air even from a block away and the bell-infested tunes of Christmas “music” seemed to be jingling directly into Purpled’s ears.</p><p>As the bus rolled to a stop and screeched on the ice deposits of the curb, he grabbed his backpack and stood. Purpled was first to emerge into the snowy outside and immediately regret it. The air didn’t so much as “nip” at his woefully-uncovered nose as it “latched on with fangs”. He pressed his purple mittens to his face and breathed into them before traipsing off into the street towards the market.</p><p>Of course Punz and Ponk were idly standing around the entrance to the bustling market, leaning against the poles of one of the first stalls in the line-up while the owner tried to shoo them off. The tinsel and sequins on their ugly (or more accurately, comically garish) sweaters reflected the LED lights hung across the booth they loitered in front of.</p><p>“Nobody can see the cinnamon buns because you’re blocking them!” complained the grandmotherly figure shaking her fist at the two men.</p><p>“We’re waiting for a friend!”</p><p>“Yes, please, we’ll move in a sec—”</p><p>Purpled rushed forward and tried not to skid too ungracefully to a stop before calling, “Ma’am, they’re just waiting for me!”</p><p>The stall-owner rolled her eyes before waving them off.</p><p>Punz and Ponk rapidly greeted Purpled as they made their way into the covered market, momentarily falling silent to take in the profuse Christmas lights strung from each tarp and around each awning leg in sight. Snow made lines where it had drifted down into cracks and then been crushed into the pavement by the constant crowds of people giggling and conversing and eating practically <em> everywhere </em>.</p><p>A gaggle of college students passed them, waving around steaming cups of cocoa. Purpled exclaimed, “Hot drinks, inc!” before pushing Ponk out of the way straight into Punz’s right shoulder. The two yelped.</p><p>“Did you just say ‘inc’ in real life? Ai- ar- el?” mocked Punz, rubbing his shoulder with a gloved hand.</p><p>Ponk was likely grinning behind his flame-toned mask. “It’s not like we’re all nerds here, right?”</p><p>“I’m gonna push you again!” declared Purpled. And he did.</p><p>The three crashed against each other and had to dodge the other people gathered around a large, gold-illuminated stall. They stopped and peered through the gaps in the crowd huddled watching what stood on the unmanned table. It was a miniature train station, with painted locomotives gently running through a mountain coated with sparkly snow while children danced around the tracks on their own axes. Ponk tilted his head and stared intently at the fake steam the trains let out, while Punz and Purpled watched him examine the model.</p><p>Of course they had to pull him away eventually, and that “eventually” only lasted a minute of unbearable standing still in the cold. Purpled hopped back and forth on each foot while they made their way into the massive warehouse-like building that held the inside section of the Christmas Market, and just about every other festive event other than the Fourth of July.</p><p>Punz sighed blissfully as the warm air hit his face, then coughed as the scent of cinnamon plunged its aromatic thumbs up his nostrils. “So this is where most of the food is, huh?”</p><p>Sniffing the air, Ponk nodded. He surreptitiously gestured at a booth selling fruitcakes and asked, “How much money do you think they’re losing to the cinnamon bun stand outside?”</p><p>“Oh my gosh,” chastised Purpled, “that’s so rude! . . . But I bet it’s a lot.”</p><p>It was enjoyable meandering through the cavernous space, sampling just about every food and occasionally bumping into a familiar face. A towering pine tree, lit with garlands of stale popcorn and a glimmering mass of tinsel, stood at the back of the warehouse and was ringed with benches for the shoppers to eat their festive lunches. The three made their way over and bargained with a couple strangers for a seat, which Ponk handled well enough, narrowly avoiding having to bribe random people with slices of fruitcake.</p><p>Punz had bought a box of fruit-flavored candy canes and delighted in sharpening the end of one, occasionally taking it out of his mouth to check the point.</p><p>“I dunno why people like any candy canes but the classic ones,” announced Purpled. “It defeats the point to cover up the mint with artificial strawberry!” He punctuated his sentence by drawing a circle in the air with the end of his classic white-and-red cane.</p><p>Ponk groaned and buried his head in his hands as Punz withdrew the candy from his mouth to retort, “Well, I dunno why people like eating candy that tastes like toothpaste! Last time I checked, you could eat Aquafresh right out of the tube!”</p><p>“Please tell me you didn’t just say that,” begged Ponk. “I will murder you!”</p><p>Purpled rolled his eyes and mumbled, “I bet the Dream Team would back me up on this. George has actually good taste . . . and I guess Dream and Sapnap eat Aquafresh so they’d be able to tell the difference between toothpaste and peppermint.”</p><p>The two men sitting next to him stiffened. Punz smacked his forehead and Ponk peeled his gloves off to furiously tap his phone and navigate to his messages app.</p><p>Purpled tilted his head. “What are you so worried about? Oh wait . . .”</p><p>“We were supposed to meet them today!” finished Ponk. He scrolled up his messages and stopped. “Or not.” Stifling laughter, he turned his screen to let the other two see.</p><p>
  <b>dream: we all meet up at 9 am on Friday?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yesterday • 5:31 PM</b>
</p><p>
  <b>ponk: that sounds good! see you there</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yesterday • 5:32 PM</b>
</p><p>The two other men pursed their lips and gave him a deadpan stare.</p><p>“You know, the army uses twenty-four hours for a reason—”</p><p>“Shush!” Ponk pressed a hand against Purpled’s mouth, and the teen resisted chomping on his friend’s fingers, instead pushing the hand straight back into its owner’s face.</p><p>A few people passing the bench area stared at what seemed like two adults trying to push each other like children. This image was not helped by the candy cane slipping from Purpled’s grip and the snowman emblazoned on Ponk’s sweater.</p><p>“Hey, this is great!” Punz piped up, ignoring the scuffle. He twirled his knife-like candy cane around one finger.</p><p>Ponk took the bait and asked, “What do you mean?”</p><p>His friend grinned before replying, “We can try <em> everything </em> before they get here on Friday!”</p><p>The three of them stared up at the light-covered ceiling, contemplating how many sweets they could eat in the span of two days. Of course it was worth it! The bitter chill of December would be washed away with hot cocoa . . .</p><p>Purpled stretched and unzipped his backpack. “Do you guys think I could fit a whole Yule log in here?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Candy Canes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>2nd day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Niki, Ranboo, Tommy, and Tubbo goof off while making candy canes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Niki opened the recipe book and set it into its clear plastic stand. She counted the various cups on the table before yelling at the ceiling, “Hey, let’s start now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” came the muffled reply from upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was rapidly followed by the thudding of feet rushing down the stairs, and Ranboo was there in the kitchen, looking eagerly at the preparations on the counter. And Tommy. And Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widened and Niki sputtered, “W-when did you two get in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked at Tubbo and the brunette answered, “We climbed in through the window to play video games with Ranboo, obviously. And we thought it would be fun to make candy canes. We even read up about it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A-ha-ha-ha-ha,” said Ranboo, rubbing his forehead. The sweat forming on the back of his neck practically glistened under the morning sun that shone through the kitchen's multiple windows. “Niki, can they make candy canes with us? Pl—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, just get them to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy pumped a fist into the air. “We did it, Tubbo! We’re such persuasive geniuses!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki clapped her hands to get the attention of the boys. She commanded, “We have to gather ingredients, so Tommy and Tubbo can pour out sugar and corn syrup while Ranboo gets gloves and such.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, gloves?” asked the tall teen nervously. He looked up from where he was standing by the sink, looking for any gloves in the cabinet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The water is gonna get to one hundred and forty degrees,” answered Niki while pulling two bottles of food coloring from a cabinet. “What’s that in Fahrenheit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo made his way over to the counter and set down a full bag of sugar with a huff. “That’s, like, two hundred eighty in Fahrenheit.” He grabbed the can of corn syrup from Tommy, who mumbled something about how at least one friend had to be good at math.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo winced and commented, “I guess we gotta get more heavy-duty gloves. I’m gonna head to the garage, don’t start without me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if we’d start without someone to do the hard work mixing for us!” yelled Tommy as his friend walked out of view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stifling a laugh, Niki shook her can of cooking spray and aimed it at her pans. Her hand shook as she restrained her giggles and oil streaked the white tiles of the counter. “Oh no . . .” lamented Niki before reaching for her roll of paper towels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy meandered over with a measuring cup and piped, “Do you think I could spray some into my mouth? It’s just oil, right? And you all know about my strong stomach—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NOOOOOO,” wailed Tubbo melodramatically, grabbing Tommy’s arm. The brunette dragged his friend away as Tommy protested loudly, but the two stopped as Niki announced,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you stop fighting and pour the ingredients already? I’m starting to boil the water now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure!” chorused the two, quickly moving to sort out the sugar and syrup into a bowl. Tommy made sure to lick the lid of the corn syrup can, and gagged on the sugary slime. Of course this sent Tubbo and Niki into a fit of giggles, and they only choked down their laughter as Ranboo walked in with a pile of rubber gardening gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he narrated, “Your garage is full of spiders. And they looked like black widows!” He shuddered and set the gloves down to better gesticulate. “So of course I had to watch out when I made my way towards the stack of gloves— also, why are all of your cleaning gloves in a pile?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki stopped her soft humming to reply, “Because whenever I garden I’m too tired afterwards to put them away.” She poured in the cups of sugar and syrup into the boiling water, then stepped back for Tommy to start wiping the sides of the pot with a wet brush. Tubbo watched and leaned onto the counter, shuffling the red and white bottles of food coloring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo leaned against the kitchen island. He kept telling the story, declaring, “There was an enormous spiderweb across the entire corner of the garage! And these ginormous eggs were hanging over the gloves!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his position by the pot of sugary water, Tommy snarked, “Hey, big man, did you bring any of them in to make eggnog?” Tubbo chuckled and accepted the blonde teen’s high-five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no making fun!” chided Niki. She scrubbed her hands under the faucet's warm water and shook them at Tommy and Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arghhh! If I weren’t doing my job perfectly over here I’d splash you too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo stared into the pot and shouted, “It’s in the soft-crack stage! Turn off the heat!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bursting into laughter, Ranboo saluted. “Aye-aye, captain!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned the burner off and grabbed the bottle of peppermint extract before unscrewing the cap and moving to pour it in. Niki yelped and lunged forward, snatching the bottle away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll make it taste like peppermint for days, you know,” she told the younger teen while shaking her tiny half-teaspoon measurer. Niki carefully poured out the extract and flicked the spoonful into the gently bubbling pot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo covered his hand to laugh as Tommy demanded, “What do you mean? It’s a whole pot of sugar and that’s barely any peppermint!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gotta step in,” groaned Ranboo, “or else you’re gonna kill each other. Can’t someone just put the candy on a pan already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three other people whipped around to stare at him and gleefully chorused, “Do it yourself, then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo grabbed Ranboo’s arm and dragged him towards the stove. “Look, just grab the handles and let it settle on the pan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo promptly let the candy slosh out of the pot. Tubbo buried his face in his hands as the syrupy mixture gushed out across the entire pan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eagerly shaking out red and white food coloring, Tommy debated, “Should we make normal candy canes or one really big one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normal candy canes,” answered Ranboo immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One really big one,” Tubbo retorted, putting a finger to his chin in thought. “Or four really big ones actually, just because I don’t feel like sharing germs with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki smiled and said, “I think four large candy canes will be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy grinned and started ripping apart the two logs of candy into equal sections with his fingers. “C’mon, get in here so I don’t have to do all the work!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The four laughed and descended upon the candy cane material.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course the arm-sized candy canes were good, but it was an even better day.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>3rd day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Eret and Fundy are trapped in a basement while an endless blizzard roars outside, but they're running out of firewood.</p>
<p>TW for: Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Apocalyptic AU</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm so sorry but i really needed to write some more of eret and fundy being sad in a basement together. it's gonna be my thing now :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eret rested her head against Fundy’s shoulder, letting fur brush her cheek. It was nice absorbing the heat radiating from the fox.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How low is the fire?” morosely asked Fundy, who had turned his face towards the basement’s low ceiling but had closed his eyes in a fruitless attempt to sleep away the constant snowstorm outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like, really small,” answered Eret. They glared at the dim light that the dwindling fire cast on the blankets spread across the ground. He bunched up some of the comforter draped across his legs in between his fists. “We have to go outside to get firewood. Really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy’s eyes opened, but only so he could make eye contact and glare. The fox stared into those blank white eyes, the eyes that resembled the drifts of snow slowly choking them to death . . . “No. We’re safe in here.” The fox gestured at the cans of food, the jugs of water, even the mountain of blankets and furs draped across the two people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re safe from everything but our fire going out!” snapped Eret. “Listen, this tower isn’t meant to be insulated and the fire is the only thing keeping us alive!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next to her, Fundy sighed and rubbed his snout before protesting, “We’re lucky to have survived this long after the Chill. We can’t risk going outside and just freezing to death."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His companion groaned and sunk deeper into the pile of blankets, leaning back against the stone wall. “The fire’s so small . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know!” retorted Fundy. He sniffled. “Of course I know we’re at risk of freezing to death every single day we wake up in this godforsaken basement. And of course I know that if we don’t want to end up like everybody else we’ve ever loved, we have to go outside and get firewood.” Teardrops ran down his face and splattered on the blankets that his claws were dug into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sh, sh, it’s okay,” murmured Eret before turning to wipe the tears off of Fundy’s face. “We’ll be okay. The shed’s barely a hundred meters away, and look at all these coats we’ve got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stifling the sobs about to escape his mouth, the fox began to stand up. “It’s gotta be me, o- okay? I mean, I’m the furry here. I’ve got fur and shit, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eret moved to get up, but Fundy gently pushed them down. “It’s gotta be me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears formed in the man’s eyes as they watched their friend pull on coat after coat, preparing to risk the constantly biting winds and the person-sized dunes of snow outside of the tower. Fundy tucked his tail inside his blankets and covered his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye,” Eret called weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you soon,” called Fundy as he ascended the stairs and slipped out of the basement door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence crept up on the small underground room. Wind howled outside but was muffled until only a whisper of the blizzard outside reached Eret’s ears.Attempting to distract himself, he opened one of the many books that he and Fundy had collected as they had rushed to prepare their safe haven. But it was no use, the words had no meaning and all he could see on the pages was Fundy leaving the tower.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The firewood shed was too far away. They were so stupid for not leaving the firewood closer, but it had all happened so fast. The Chill had begun on December 3rd, which Eret remembered vividly. Snowflakes had begun to fall outside as she read Ranboo’s transcript of the disastrous meeting, and she’d pressed her face against the window panes and watched the obsidian walls become dusted with white. But the snow never stopped, and the blizzards got harsher, and frost kept creeping up the walls of every house of New L’Manburg. Everyone had been forced to start preparing for an endless winter but not everyone was lucky enough to have the same resources as Eret and Fundy. Sam could have survived and been able to help, but the Badlands had been drowned under ice after a sudden avalanche. The bodies were never recovered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the memories of death rushed back, ripping holes in Eret’s composure with icicles. Of course the smallest homes were buried, everyone unlucky enough to live far away from the server’s center freezing before they could push their way through the shoulder-tall snowdrifts and get help. Eventually New L’Manburg crumpled under the weight of the ice and then, poof. Just more refugees fleeing from that cursed crater. Eret, Fundy, Tommy, Tubbo, Niki. No Wilbur. Probably kicking around in hell with Schlatt where it was toasty all the time. It was more lively with everybody in the basement of Eret’s tower. The teens were the most insistent that Ranboo would find them and the most heartbroken every day when no person came knocking at the door. But the pneumonia took care of them, and then plain old normal hypothermia killed Niki and then running out of food almost got Fundy and Eret but then they found an abandoned shelter connected to the basement full of resources and it was finally a reason to not give in and die.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eret had to remember that, he couldn’t give in, he had to get up and save his friend. They stood up and pulled the furs to their shoulders and wrapped blankets across their chest, covered their face in scarf upon scarf. His steps were hesitant as he made his way towards the basement’s door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was difficult forcing open the door as the wind’s screaming grew louder, but Eret threw it open and let the frigid air sweep over him. It was pain and numbness all mixed together and blasting his face, but he kept struggling through the blizzard in the direction of the firewood shed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a shape in the snow, multicolored and furry and surrounded by dropped logs. Eret rushed forward and shouted over the wind, “Fundy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fox stared up at the sky blearily underneath the blankets and coating of snow. “Hey. I’m glad you came to join me . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Fundy, Fundy, please stay awake! We’re so close!” She tried to grab her companion but he limply rolled back into the snow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy murmured, “It’s so nice out . . .” His eyes fluttered closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eret sobbed and buried their face into Fundy’s chest. “Oh god, no, we were supposed to stick together, you can’t leave me like this! I swear if you don’t wake up— I-I’ll . . .” Tears flooded their face and traced lines of frost across the pale skin. They turned away to wipe their tears, collapsing to the ground as the storm continued to howl, drowning out the sobbing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinding light reflected from the icy dunes overtook the gray and white landscape. Eret covered his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands gently removed his hands from his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” she whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo stared back at him. “Eret, you’re awake! You’re here!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man realized he was standing up. There were no longer layers of blankets hanging off of them, just casual clothes. His feet were bare and grasped at soft grass spotted with wildflowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Calls from the distance made his eyes dart up. Surrounding him and stretching to the horizon were meadows and forests and streams forever, and his friends ran across the landscape laughing and playing. Tubbo dragged her by the arm and shouted, “Niki! Wilbur! Everyone, Eret’s here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tears formed in their eyes. As everyone crowded around them, shouting, trying to tell stories, and plucking flowers to set in their hair, Eret wept. He wept for the warm breeze brushing his hair, he wept for the bright sun illuminating the idyllic meadow, he wept for finally being able to see his friends and their radiant smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then it was all over.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Wreath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>4th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Bad and Skeppy make wreathes over a Discord call and have a Twitter poll contest.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bad clicked at various settings on his mic. “Hey Skeppy, can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you sound good. Are you ready to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroyed</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a wreath-building contest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man rolled back in his chair and replied, “No way. This wreath is gonna be amazing. Look, I’ve got sparkly red ribbons and everything!” He wiped his runny nose with a tissue from one of the multiple boxes sitting on his desk. “Okay, just because I might be allergic to pine or evergreen or whatever this stuff is, doesn’t mean that I can’t get more votes on a Twitter poll!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy laughed, the sound of him slapping his desk audible over the Discord call. “People on Twitter don’t like sparkly red ribbons, Bad. Just look at the app color, it’s obvious that sparkly teal is going to win!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y- You little muffin,” gasped Bad. Even though his camera wasn’t on, he waggled a finger at his computer where Skeppy’s icon blinked innocently. “Isn’t it cheating to use psychology against me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another laugh answered him. “Okay, sure. Can we get started?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad sat up straight and started counting, “Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Go!” He descended on the wreath-making supplies, sneezing as he started to bundle the evergreen boughs together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, seriously?” immediately whined Skeppy. “This stuff is evil, it’s poking me!” More rustling and a yelp. “The wire poked me, too! Bad, help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh—” Bad wiped his nose with a bundle of Kleenex. “—are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy replied, “Yeah, but my finger has a big indent in it. I wish you were here to kiss it better.” He sighed in a fit of melodrama.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad flushed and made a noise of protest. “What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Skeppy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean,” cackled Skeppy. “Come over here and give my wound a smooch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez! You’re so dumb sometimes,” complained Bad. He looked down to focus on curling the wires into multiple circles, twisting the ends together until he had a frame to start tying his evergreen bundles to. “How’s your wreath going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend mumbled something then answered, “Actually pretty good!” Skeppy must have waved his wreath at his computer because Bad’s ears were suddenly bombarded with scraping noises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eek, stop scraping your mic with your wreath! What if it starts dropping needles?” He looked down towards his incomplete project, making sure that </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t start shedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend cheerfully replied, “Then I don’t need to pay for air freshener!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad sputtered and blew his nose again while formulating a response. “I can’t argue with you when you’re like this, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lighthearted humming answered him as the other person on the call strung up their craft project. “You love me,” affectionately declared Skeppy. “You can’t stay mad at me when you see my wreath. I’m dedicating it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, really? Wait— it better be a good wreath if it makes me forgive you for being such a muffinhead!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it, I knew you’d call me a muffin!” cried Skeppy. “When I go to all this trouble to make you such a nice wreath, too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Bad sighed, “Let’s actually finish our wreaths, okay? Then we should set up the Twitter poll.” It wasn’t exciting to tie knot after knot, but adding the bells and ribbons would be fun, and that kept him working even as his fingers tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy agreed and went silent, with only the sounds of wire clattering and ribbons rustling against pine needles to show that he wasn’t muted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a few minutes of silence before Bad asked, “Are you done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m done!” Bad raised his wreath up to see it better in the light and grinned as he gently shook it so the tiny golden bells hanging could jingle loud enough for Skeppy to hear. He pinned on the embroidered bow sitting on his table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend made an “ooh” sound before saying, “Hang on, let me take a picture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Discord pinged to let them know the message had been sent, Bad clicked on the attachment. “Awww,” he cooed. “Did you really draw those ducks just to stick them on this wreath?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh,” said Skeppy. “It’s cute!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is!” Pulling out his phone to take a photo, Bad giggled. “My wreath is much better, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise of Skeppy clicking on the photo was audible. His outraged gasp was even louder. “Wait a minute, this is cheating! Forget the color of the Twitter logo, you made this beforehand!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad flicked the embroidered bow hanging off of his wreath and smiled. “Did you really expect me to embroider a whole Christmas tree in thirty minutes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Skeppy conceded. “You win. Does this mean we don’t have to do the Twitter poll since yours is so much better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, c’mon! I’m going to get you and steal all of your tissues—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dissolved into laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that day, Twitter would ratio Skeppy and give Bad 90% of the votes. And later that week, Skeppy found a package with only a wreath covered in red ribbons at his doorstep. So was Bad really the winner?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Christmas Cards</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>5th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Tommy and Wilbur have an argument over Christmas cards in Logsteadshire.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so it's probably obvious, but these fics are slowly decreasing in length. basically, i'm just a little burned-out and i'd like to be able to write other fics that aren't for the advent prompts. it's not serious, tho! i still love this prompt calendar &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy stared down at the stack of Christmas cards, tapping his pencil against the wooden table. He shouldn’t be this mad at a stack of blank cards, but something about Wilbur’s lovingly dusted glitter and tiny paper Christmas trees sent his blood boiling. The pencil kept tapping on the table, louder and louder. Finally Tommy threw it across the room and let it crash against the wooden wall, tumbling into the grass that made up the ramshackle home’s floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen stood up and stomped out of the house, pulling on the shabby old coat hanging by the door before heading into the woods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur manifested at his shoulder as Tommy stormed to the small pond a short way from the entrance of the woods. “What are you doing?” questioned the incorporeal figure. He floated along as the teen kicked smooth rocks away and plopped down onto a fallen log by the edge of the pond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” spat Tommy. “There’s nothing to do out here. And I won’t make Christmas cards for everyone back in L’Manburg celebrating without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was a good idea.” Wilbur’s voice, barely above a whisper, was plaintive. He sat down next to Tommy on the log and stretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen recoiled, but eventually let the ghost put his barely-there arm around his shoulder. Tommy stared at the calm body of water, his eyes tracing the path of the tiny fish that swam there among the reeds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur broke the silence by mumbling, “Why don’t you want to send them cards? Wouldn’t that make them want to see you? I thought you wanted to see them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stood up immediately, nearly toppling back into the pond before steadying himself. “Oh, so your dementia is getting worse, huh?! Did you forget about this thing called dignity?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” asked Wilbur. His voice was raspy as always but tears began to slide their way down his cheeks before fading away as they fell.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen glared back at him. No tears sprung up in his eyes, so his stare could bore into the softly crying ghost. “Yeah, Wilbur, maybe I don’t want to talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> after they exiled me. Maybe if they want to see me they should take the effort to come out here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother mumbled something inaudible and disappeared into the crisp air of the forest, and Tommy spun on his heel and made his way back to the log cabin. He pulled the ragged brown coat tight around his chest and threw himself back into the chair. The stack of red and green cards lay there, but the pencil across the room had been gently set atop of the cards. Tommy wondered why Wilbur didn’t just write the card himself, but he sighed and took the first one of the pile. It was a bright red with yellow ribbons taped to the front, and the inside was filled with golden paper cut-outs of bells. Tommy sighed and picked up his pencil, starting with a <em>Dear Quackity</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words barely seemed to trickle out of his mind onto the paper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How is it in L’Manburg? It can’t be fun as it is here. We’re having LOTS OF FUN in Logsteadshire.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy groaned and pushed back his chair against the dirt floor, pressing his hands to his eyes. Writing was too hard. He finally scooted back towards the table, quickly jotting down empty platitudes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Have a good Christmas. I hope you have a good day. We’re wishing you a happy holiday from Logsteadshire.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Each card didn’t take that long once his hands were warmed up. His mind drifted while he signed the slips of bright paper and folded the origami Christmas trees neatly into each card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his distracted state, it didn’t take long for his pencil to begin scratching deep lines in the glittery paper, lines engraved with every unspoken emotion roiling deep in his brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is Tubbo doing as president? Is everything okay with Dream?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s going on?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you all so much.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked rapidly, sitting up straight. Fogginess of an unexpected sleep invaded his mind and Tommy shook his head to clear it. It was dark now, but no lights had been turned on. Tommy’s mind barely contemplated where Wilbur was before his gaze turned to the Christmas cards fanned out in front of him. There were at least ten with full messages and signatures, and plenty more to go. The teen sighed and stood up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d finish later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crawling into bed, Tommy pulled the blankets over his day clothes and curled up. His back pressed against the cabin’s wall. There was no light from the moon to catch his gaze, so his eyelids drooped and sleep came quickly. But as Tommy’s consciousness faded, his ears caught a sound from across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just the scratching of pencil on paper.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Hallmark Movies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>6th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Schlatt and Quackity are actors in a low-budget Christmas movie and enjoy making fun of it on their break between scenes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a "Stabmate AU" by writing-and-worrying, ameliamazing1603, and me! it's a platonic soulmate au where one soulmate is obliged to kill the other, and this urge is intensified the closer together the soulmates are. this was a little hard to write for the first time, so it's a day late. oops!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quackity stared at his script and tugged at the air above his head before realizing that he didn’t have his beanie on. “Do I really have to read this?” he complained, waving the stack of papers. “It’s really cringey.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the set, the director replied, “You should have been here for the first reading, then. We revised lines there.” He turned back to the various background objects sitting on the fake wall’s fake fireplace mantle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Schlatt slid up next to Quackity, careful not to spill his cup of coffee. “What scene are you whining about, again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This one,” answered Quackity, pointing at the lines. It was hard concentrating when the man was standing over his shoulder and practically breathing down his neck. That familiar bloodlust took over, and Quackity crumpled the script in between his fingers a little harder. The mark across his wrist pulsed with his rapid heartbeat, practically begging to be notched. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No no no, I can’t do this. Can’t kill him, not now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friend scanned the page and cackled. “Oh, that scene.” He took Quackity’s chin in his free hand before reshaping his expression into a caricature of romance. “You’re my hunted, Sam,” he purred. “I’ve finally found you . . . in my heart.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quackity squealed and pulled away, covering his face with his hands. “I want to kill you, I hate you, I’m not getting paid enough for this!” Laughing, he wiped a tear from his eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can he tell that I wasn’t kidding about wanting to kill him? I hope not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “The script really sucks, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Schlatt rolled his eyes. “Of course it does! Actually, can’t you quit this shitty rip-off Hallmark movie and go back to being a barista—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director looked up from where he helped set up equipment with the swarm of camerapeople and shouted cheerfully at Schlatt, “It’s awfully nice of you to insult the project when I gave you the understudy job in the first place!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Schlatt smirked and called back, “I never wanted it anyways! If it weren’t for Karl slipping on that ice, he’d be perfectly fine hamming it up with loverboy over here!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next to him, Quackity crossed his arms. “I hate you. There’s time to get some coffee before filming starts, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup. I’ll refill my cup, too,” said Schlatt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The younger man resisted scowling as they made their way to the break room. It seemed to be impossible to escape Schlatt constantly being at his shoulder, and impossible to escape the hunter instinct that filled him with such an urge to throttle his acquaintance— no, friend? The person who antagonized him over the counter of Starbucks every morning and playfully insulted him while on set of this cheesy Christmas movie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two popped inside of the break room, drawn to the bright red coffee maker at the back of the cramped room. Schlatt quickly pushed ahead of Quackity, pushing the machine’s button so the last batch of coffee could pour out into his oversized mug. Quackity sighed and asked, “Do you always have to bring the Christmas mug around?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a devout Catholic,” answered Schlatt smugly before taking a sip of coffee and moving to sit down on the tattered couch nestled against the wall by the counter. The other man leaned on the counter and turned on the old radio that sat there. Christmas music blared from the speakers, it was something with a lot of bells and intense vocals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quackity put a pod of coffee beans into the coffee maker, sighing heavily as the old machine whirred slowly before coffee started dripping into Quackity’s spare Styrofoam cup. He opened one of the drawers of the counter, finding coffee stirrers . . . and a whole mess of plastic utensils. Knives perfect for gashing, forks perfect for gouging, spoons that might have been okay for digging into soft ocular bits. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yes, oh yes, this is it. No one will even be here to see me do it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head so intensely to clear the thoughts that Schlatt asked, “Is there a bug on you or something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” replied Quackity. “Just something flying around.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like the urge to actually kill you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He closed the drawer and struggled to move his heavy hand to turn up the radio. An old rock song had started to play. The band name escaped him but it was something like the Remoras.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friend smirked. “Okay, then. Just a thought?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit he’s a mind reader, he’s a mind reader, oh nooooo this is how it ends</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Schlatt gestured for Quackity to sit next him, saying, “We gotta look over this scene since we only have ten minutes. There’s this one bit where I have to look you in the eyes . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay. Everything’s good.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The younger man grinned widely, picking up his coffee cup and setting it on the table before surveying the script. “Okay, I’ll bite.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as the strains of “Fight Tonight” continued from the radio only to be drained out by the pair’s laughing, Quackity knew that even this terrible film wouldn’t be enough to make him remove Schlatt from his life. And especially not with a plastic spoon.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>7th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Dream and George look at some Christmas lights together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it's just a drabble bc i'm tired af and it was already late :&lt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dream and George leaned back on the roof of the car, surveying the street of houses draped in lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s stunning,” sighed George, a soft fog escaping from his mouth. It blurred the radiance of the multicolored lights. “I’m glad I’m visiting for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two turned to face each other, fingers intertwining as Dream a hold of his friend’s hands. He stared into George’s eyes, taking in the lights glowing there. And then he closed his eyes as George kissed him and let the lights fade from his vision, only feeling their lips pressed together in the freezing air.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Parties</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>8th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Puffy and Niki prepare for a dinner party and rush to make food before everyone arrives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>eyyyyy, at least it's not a drabble! i rushed the last part, which is obvious, but oh well :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Puffy laid out the tablecloth, making sure each embroidered corner draped neatly over the overly large table. She stepped back and looked around the dining room, with the two white-clad tables pressed together and the plethora of matching chairs. As she walked over to the kitchen to pick up the centerpieces laid out across the tile floor there, Niki’s voice rang out from upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Puffy, Wilbur just texted me that they're gonna be here in twenty minutes! And Bad said that he and Skeppy will be here in thirty! That’s not even talking about everyone else—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman downstairs yelped and ran towards the stairs to call back, “Then come down and help me get the ham out of the oven!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki rushed down the stairs and the two skipped over to the kitchen where a timer counted down to when the massive chunk of meat in the oven cooked. It dinged, and Puffy rapidly pulled on oven mitts before squatting to draw out the tray. Niki reached for the other side with her gloved hands and they heaved it onto the rack splayed across the kitchen’s white-tiled island.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Puffy put her hands on her knees and sucked in air. “Gosh, and that’s just the ham.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The vegetables won’t be as heavy,” assured Niki. She walked over to the stove and individually lifted the lids of the four pots bubbling there. “Can you take the pineapple sauce and put it into the bowl there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Puffy grabbed the saucepan and gently poured it into the ceramic bowl before carrying it over to the two conjoined tables. She gently adjusted the poinsettia-covered centerpieces and walked back to see Niki struggling to lift a tray of glasses without letting them wobble off and fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, let me do that!” protested Puffy, taking the tray and hurrying it into the dining room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry that I wasn’t that good at carrying them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Puffy distributed the glasses around all of the seats before wiping her forehead. “Trust me, not everybody can carry that many cups. I’m just built different!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two dissolved into giggles. They started to bustle around the kitchen, gathering each side dish and bringing them back and forth to the table. It was almost like Thanksgiving, but those jokes had already been made and argued against fervently by the two. After all, a ham was ridiculously far away from a turkey, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Puffy and Niki startled as a doorbell broke their preparation reverie. Niki was the first to run up to the door and stand on her tiptoes to see through the peephole. The inquisitive face of Tommy flanked by Phil, Techno, and Wilbur stared back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing open the door, Puffy wrapped Tommy, the closest to her, in a hug. She cried, “I’m so glad to see you!”</span>
  <span>“Let go of me, woman!” Tommy huffed, flailing his arms behind Puffy’s back and nearly hitting Niki. Niki was wrapping the other three people in tight hugs, and quickly informing them of when all the others would arrive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group of now-six spilled into the house and collapsed onto the couches in the living room. Phil started a conversation about what had happened on the plane ride there, something about being recognized and spilling airline peanuts into Wilbur’s bag. The room was full of laughter as the dramatic retellings continued, until the doorbell rang and Techno hopped up to let Skeppy and Bad in. Suddenly it was even livelier, as everyone rushed to tell their stories and comment on the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. Niki blushed as Puffy proclaimed that the German woman had done all of the cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for more people to join, from Eret to Fundy to Tubbo. Once everybody had found their seats around the dinner table, mostly by jumping into chairs and shouting, Phil began to divide the ham into neat slices. Puffy excused herself as the group began to pass around the sauce, gently taking Niki’s elbow and pulling her into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to thank you for organizing this,” said Puffy softly, fidgeting with the neckline of her shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki smiled and responded, “No problem! Why didn’t you want to say this at the table, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman sighed and admitted, “Because I didn’t want to say that you did all the work, Niki. It would have been cool if I had actually helped more figuring out the dates, or even cooking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning even more, Niki patted Puffy on the shoulder. “You helped a lot! And I have to give away my secret— without you checking my email, I would have told everybody to come on January twentieth!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Puffy muffled her laugh. “So we’re even?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” replied Niki cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two headed back to the table and rejoined the festivities.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Gingerbread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>9th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Tommy and Tubbo hang out and enjoy gingerbread while failing at cooking.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy spun around his room on his chair, letting his legs whip around. Tubbo laughed and scooted his chair away to avoid being hit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Tubbster,” Tommy began, “We have gingerbread in the oven. Do you want any before we start <em>video gaming</em>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo put a finger to his chin in thought. “I haven’t had it fresh, so I’ll try some. Maybe it’ll be better than that dry stuff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sat up, steadying himself on the arm of his chair before going to open the door to his room. “C’mon, Tubbo, it’ll be done in a sec and it’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> better out of the oven. You see, Motherinnit does this folding thing where—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued to ramble as the two rushed down the stairs before nearly tumbling into the kitchen. Tubbo leaned on the island as Tommy checked the timer on the oven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much longer?” asked Tubbo, rolling a mixing spoon left on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned around and swept a few scraps of parchment paper off of the counter. “Five minutes! Do you think we can whip up some frosting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend grinned and suggested, “With gumdrops for buttons?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” cried Tommy, pumping his fist in the air. “To make frosting we need to grab powdered sugar, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already walking towards the cabinets, Tubbo nodded. “And we mix it with milk or heavy cream or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy made a “hmm” noise and opened the fridge to pull out a carton of milk. “Will low-fat work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never liked fat in my frosting, but . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good point!” declared Tommy, before beginning to pour milk into the glass bowl that had been left out by his mother. “Wait, should we search up a recipe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo shook his head and dropped his bag of powdered sugar next to the bowl of milk. “My phone’s upstairs, I think we can handle it anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged and shook sugar into the bowl. “Yeah, sure. Come help me mix this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Tommy, I think we need to use an electric mixer,” Tubbo pleaded as Tommy forced a whisk into his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! We’re strong enough!” yelled Tommy gleefully. He began furiously stirring the sugar and milk, nearly sending droplets splattering across the kitchen. Tubbo shielded his face and laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” said the brunette between giggles. “Let’s see how long you can hand-mix that for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The oven’s timer went off with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Tommy leaped with excitement. “Pull the cookies out, pull them out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo obliged, pulling on oven mitts and turning off the oven. He lifted the pan out of the oven and set it on the stove burners, and both crowded around the large pan to gawk at the gingerbread children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy continued whisking the milk and sugar before looking down mournfully at the still-thin liquid. “Can we just eat the gingerbread already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other teen grinned and nodded, starting to peel a cookie off the parchment paper. Tubbo blew on it and switched hands, waving his burned fingers. He bit off the cookie’s head before yelping, “H- hot! O- owch!” around a mouthful of gingerbread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend grinned and grabbed another cookie, nearly shoving it down his throat before gasping and waving his hand in front of his mouth. Tubbo laughed and swallowed his gingerbread, gently patting Tommy on the back as the blonde choked down the chunk of cookie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s some pretty good gingerbread, huh?” joked Tubbo. He nibbled on the rest of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy cackled and took another gingerbread child. “Yeah, not bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette grabbed the tray as the two walked up to Tommy’s room and collapsed into their chairs. Tubbo contemplated his words before asking, “Do you think you can ask your mom to make more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m not exactly sure if I can make frosting to go with it!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ofc i know it's short, but i had to go make fun of the live-action mulan with my dad. and also i know it's ANOTHER prompt where people cook, but can you blame me? i'm hungry :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Naughty or Nice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>9th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! A 5+1 fic exploring Wilbur's Christmases with Phil, and one with Fundy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: brief mention of blood, an intense argument</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <ul>
<li><span> 3 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur wobbles on the tips of his toes, barely catching his fuzzy red stocking on the peg sticking out above the closed fireplace. He stumbles back and falls on the carpet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil laughs and helps the toddler to his feet. “So, Will, do you know why we put up the stockings for Christmas?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No!” chirps Wilbur. He wriggles out of his father’s arms and clambers onto the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then,” says Phil. Sitting down on the couch, he unfolds the blanket there and drapes it across his son. “Since this is your first Christmas, I have to tell you about Santa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes wide, Wilbur nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil begins by saying, “He’s got this list of every kid, across all of the worlds and every server imaginable. And there's two columns— that’s a line but it goes up and down instead of side to side —and it’s either the nice column or the naughty column.” He waves his arms to mimic writing down names.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What does ‘naughty’ mean?” asks Wilbur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It means bad, or misbehaving. If you’re on Santa’s naughty list, then you don’t get any presents.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The toddler looks down at his hands and counts on his small fingers. “Dad, how many bad things would I need to do to not get presents?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting out a chuckle, Phil pats Wilbur on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he assures, “you’re the best child a dad could ask for.”</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>4 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, Dad,” calls Wilbur.  “Can you look at my drawing of Santa?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil hurries over from his cooking, dropping his spoon on the counter before walking into the small living room. “Yeah, Will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His son beams and holds up the crayon drawing before declaring, “This is Santa writing down names on his list!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, the man smiles and surveys at the vaguely-person shaped mess of red. “This is your name on the paper, right? Your handwriting is getting better and better every day!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur puts down the paper on the low wooden table and picks up a crayon, quickly scrawling his name on the bottom of the drawing again. “If I practice at all this stuff, my name will get on the nice list. Mom would say that I was nice this year, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil stares at the roaring fireplace, his eyes tracing the dancing flames and the warm light bathing the room. “Yeah, of course she would, Will.”</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>5 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>Phil throws open the door and calls, “Will? Do you want to meet your uncle Techno?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steps thud down the stairs of the small cottage, and Wilbur stumbles to a halt in front of his father. “Wait, who’s Uncle Tech—” He shrieks as a hulking piglin hybrid pokes his head into the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Technoblade feared across the server tree and prayed to in hushed whispers before every sporting match, looks down at the child and laughs. He closes the door behind himself and sweeps snow off of his icicle-like crown. His voice is rough with disuse as he remarks, “Did you never mention me, Phil?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde man sighs and playfully flicks the boar’s scarred face. “I mentioned you a lot, okay? Just not what you look like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur rushes to his father’s side and clings to Phil’s green pant leg. “Dad,” asks the child plaintively, “Is he as scary as he looks?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A feigned gasp escapes from Techno, who had moved over to the coat stand to hang up his plush blue cloak. “That’s awfully rude, you know. Didn’t Phil tell you that little twerps get no presents for Christmas?” The teasing smile he directs at Wilbur is marred by the razor-sharp tusks emerging from each side of his snout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The child buries his face in Phil’s coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil pats Wilbur on the head, leading him to the living room. He says gently, “I’m sorry that Uncle Techno is such a jerk. It’s been a while since he’s talked to people, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he telling the truth that I’m gonna be on the naughty list? Because I really wanted to ask for a book this year . . .” Wilbur stares down at his feet before Phil lifts him onto the couch and tucks the blanket over his legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Will! You’re a really good kid, and Santa knows that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur looks over his shoulder as Phil walks back to whack Techno on the arm. But Phil can’t bring himself to berate the hog man and instead sighs, “You’re gonna traumatize my kid, Techno.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno smirked and pulled glasses out from the pocket of his silver-embroidered breeches, setting them on his snout. “Well, Phil, who am I to lie about the cruel realities of the world? The universe itself has told me, whispering it in the bubbles that pop underneath frozen lakes and howling it among the winds that scorch the icy tundra . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Wilbur pulls the blanket across his face as his father and “uncle” joke and sit down to pour coffee at the dining table. His thoughts are full of Techno’s words, and an undercurrent of fear. What if Phil was lying about him being good?</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span> 6 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sits in front of the fireplace, letting the warm light cast a glow across the sheet music he was penciling in. He picks up the guitar laying next to him, carefully strumming it and placing his fingers across the metallic frets. The chords are simple but he begins to hum along to the notes on the paper. “It’s been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice halts. It’s all just a lie, he’s never seen Vienna, or Hypixel, or any of those servers that his father had told him all about. Mostly his days were spent wandering around the stone-walled gardens or staring out the window as birds passed, waiting for Phil to appear over the horizon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now there was no life because of the winter with its barren white grip on the land, and the windows were almost constantly sealed shut to prevent frost from creeping into the cabin. It was devastatingly lonely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The click of a key shifting in a lock snaps Wilbur from his morose staring at the guitar. He leaps up and rushes to the door as Phil makes his way in, taking off his snow-dusted coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, I did so much stuff today! I decorated the Christmas tree, and I hung my stocking, and I played my guitar—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil wasn’t smiling. He stared vaguely past his son and mumbled, “That’s great, Will.” The man turned and started walking upstairs, leaving Wilbur standing shocked behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Phil’s wings fold and he slows at the top of the stairs, Wilbur catches a glimpse of dark stains across his father's clothes. Red drips from the sword hanging at his waist, but suddenly Phil has slammed the door. His child stares up at the stairs, before mournfully returning to his seat in front of the fireplace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly the room doesn’t feel as warm anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur stares at the stocking, practically seeing the coal about to be dropped in it. After all, a good kid wouldn’t be ignored by his dad. Right?</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>7 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>It’s Christmas Eve, and Wilbur is laying on the couch trying to forget what’s happening. It’s not a normal December, there’s no decorations except for the ragged stocking hanging above the fireplace. The sounds of arguing rattle through the house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t just run away from all of your problems, Phil! Have you ever considered </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowing down</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not being so </span>
  <em>
    <span>reckless</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” That’s just Techno. Wilbur wonders why he even decided to visit for a week if they were just going to argue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father’s voice shouts back at Techno, less gruff and closer to screaming. Phil retorts, “All of you ever do is DWELL and MOPE and the only reason you haven’t died of grief for a long gone empire is because you’re not human!” The man continues and a thud from upstairs causes Wilbur to flinch and pull his blanket over his eyes. “I won’t stick around for yet another power struggle because I can die, Techno, I can die! Can’t I </span>
  <em>
    <span>get a break</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno interrupts by yelling, “Just think for a second about what you’re doing. You aren’t dead yet, and that means you have responsibilities!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil storms off, his footsteps leading to his office. The door slams and it shakes the foundation. But that isn’t why Wilbur is trembling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The child freezes as hooves thud down the stairs before stopping a few feet away from him. Techno says, “Sorry you had to hear that, kid. Phil’s just going through some rough times . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur takes the blanket from his eyes, staring at the piglin hybrid. Techno stares back and continues,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a good kid, Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno must’ve lied, because his stocking went empty that night.</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span>24 •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur laughs and dangles the red stocking above his son’s head, watching the fox jump and leap for it. Fundy mock-growls and finally digs his tiny claws into the sock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good job!” laughs the man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy seizes the stocking and nods proudly. He declares, “This is gonna be an amazing Christmas, Dad! Is Mom gonna be able to come back and celebrate with us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur hesitates before answering, “I’m sure she’ll try her best to get back. You know how hard it is, swimming upstream to us and all that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His son nods and rushes off to hang the pockmarked stocking over the fireplace, before traipsing back to throw himself into Wilbur’s lap. The man laughs and sets the small fox child on his knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy begs, “Can you tell me why we hang that sock up? Because I asked you yesterday and you said that you would tell me later . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Wilbur focuses on recalling his memories of being told about Santa all those years ago. It’s hard delving into those familiar memories, because what if he goes too deep? “There’s this man called Santa, you see. And Christmas is a happy holiday because that’s when he goes and delivers presents to every kid across all the servers.” He looks down and smiles at Fundy, who gapes in astonishment and elation. “There’s a lot about Christmas that I can’t remember, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy mimics Wilbur’s nodding and pipes up, “Even if you can’t remember, I know Christmas is gonna be really happy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christmas has always been bittersweet, right? Something tells Wilbur that it isn’t supposed to be, but it’s too late now. He’s an adult, or close enough to one even though every day feels like trying to find his way in the woods without a compass. And he has to figure this year’s festivities out by himself, for the sake of Fundy. But it’s been a while since he thought of Santa. There was always something about being naughty or nice . . .</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is late, but it was also the most fun to write! it's my first 5+1 fic, so i'm growing up ;-;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ornaments And Decorations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>11th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! The Dream Team decorates a Christmas tree at Dream's house.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dream groaned as he put down the box of ornaments, letting it thud on the floor. He cringed as the sound of bells jangling and something that sounded like shattering immediately rang out through the house. “George, Sapnap, come down! I got the ornaments out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap’s voice echoed from upstairs. “I just have to beat George and get my ten dollars!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream laughed and shouted back, “Hurry up!” He turned to the box of ornaments, cracking open the plastic box and starting to lay out the shiny decorations and the garlands of iridescent tinsel. It was a struggle untangling all of the golden threads, yarn, and twigs, but it kept him busy until a few minutes later when he heard screams from upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how could you beat me?!” shouted Sapnap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George cackled before a muffled whack cut him off. There were noises of a tussle and eventually the two made their way downstairs, George sulking but still shoving a ten-dollar bill into his pocket while Sapnap slid down the banister with his socked feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They flopped onto the carpet in front of the Christmas tree, and Dream began to explain his method while untangling lights. “So we always add the lights first, then we randomly put on the ornaments. Those little guys get saved for last because they fill up any empty space . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, these little guys?” Sapnap reached into the punctured ziploc bag and drew out one of the painted wooden figures. He straightened its wire halo. “Cute!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George nodded and grabbed a bundle of lights in his hands to start running around the tree. He looked back and Dream and asked, “This way, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream stared back and narrowed his eyes before replying, “If you do it clockwise then we have to kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a joke, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sapnap cut in and declared, “He was serious!” With a grunt, he scooped up an armful of ornaments and began to place them on the empty boughs of the tree as George continued to string up the lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can do all the work, right?” asked Dream cheerfully. He folded his arms behind his head and laid back on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A red-and-green sphere hit him in the gut and Sapnap declared, “Help us or we’re gonna make you hang the outside lights up alone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream rolled his eyes and stood up, grabbing a handful of baubles from Sapnap and joining his friends hooking ornaments over the boughs of the aromatic tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does anybody else’s nose hurt when they smell pine?” asked George as he adjusted the last foot of the string of lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, seriously?” replied Dream. “Pine is the best smell </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it’s that good,” argued Sapnap. He hung the last glittery snow globe on the tree and wiped his hands, sending sparkles flying to slowly drift onto the carpet. “It’s like, spicy. And that’s pretty weirdchamp, ya know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream lunged at his friend and began to whack him with a small gift box-shaped pillow. “Take that back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George laughed and flicked the switch on the Christmas lights. The fighting stopped as the three surveyed the gently glowing gold lights, and the rainbow streaks that were sent across the carpet from the tinsel wrapping the pine tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s way prettier than it looks when I decorate it by myself,” admits Dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friends laughed and George replied, “That’s why you invited us over for Christmas, right? Or was it to harvest the clout of having the three of us in the same room together for every stream?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut it!” Dream pushed George lightly, sending him tipping into Sapnap, who pushed back and sent Dream reeling. The three tumbled to the floor and rolled away from each other, laughing and staring up at the illuminated ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he closed his eyes and let himself relax with his friends around him, Dream was glad that he didn’t have to explain why he wanted them to visit for the holidays. After all, he never knew how sentimental was </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> sentimental with Sapnap. It wasn’t that fun getting whacked with a Wii remote.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>'tis bad and also late, but i tried to capture the dream team dynamic accurately! they're fun to write ^w^</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Secret Santa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>12th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Techno and Wilbur discuss their Secret Santa gifts and Techno realizes that he's forgotten to buy one.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Techno sits back and surveys the lovingly wrapped gift box in front of him on the bed. He turns it over, which isn’t hard because it’s tiny and mostly fluffed up by its pink wrapping paper and the gold bow stuck on the front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur throws open the door to their room, asking, “Is that gift from Niki?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably. She’s the only one neat enough to put a bow on her present.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clambering onto the bunk bed’s top bunk, Wilbur leans his head over the railing and hangs over a red bag, nearly whacking Techno in the face. “This is probably from Bad, right? Check out the card.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno grabs the bag, carefully setting away the present swaddled in its tissue paper. He looks over the “</span>
  <strike>
    <span>Merry Christmas</span>
  </strike>
  <span> Happy Holidays + Merry Christmas!” written in cursive and replies, “Definitely Bad. His tildes are really circular and there’s this thing he does when he loops the tails of his—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur interrupts and reaches over the railing, nearly toppling over it but barely catching himself as he takes back the bag. “I’ll remember that for next year, but you don’t need to geek out on me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugs and says, “There’s nothing more satisfying than showing up at school with gifts knowing that you’ve perfectly disguised your own handwriting to make everyone else guess wrong. Listen, how do you think I’m always winning bets against Schlatt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother laughs. “Tell me that you weren’t so busy practicing writing with your right hand, you forgot our family Secret Santa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Techno buries his face in his hands and groans. “How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tech, you’ve got wrapping paper on your desk and your old guide to making paper rockets out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this, Techno jumps up. “Will, you’ve got your learner’s license, you have to drive me to the store!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s illegal,” answers Wilbur. He slides down the ladder to shake a finger in front of Techno’s face. “Don’t you know that I’m not allowed to have another teen in the car until I’m . . . uh . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sixteen,” replies Techno morosely. “Listen, Will, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me not give Tommy a terrible gift.” The expression he levels at his brother was pleading, but genuine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looks away and mumbles, “I’ll get the keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two make their way to the garage and Techno waits until Wilbur has grabbed the car keys from the hook by the door before asking, “How much time do we have until Phil gets back from his hike?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sighs and says, “An hour, but we better hurry up if you don’t have a gift idea in mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As both of them jump into the car, Techno sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t look like an adult, but his good posture at least makes him taller. . . His hand clutches his wallet as the car jerks to a start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Wilbur says awkwardly, “Can you search up directions to the nearest Walmart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno pulls his phone from his pocket and types for a few seconds before answering, “Just head towards the grocery store but keep going and turn right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother stares straight ahead as he pulls into traffic and mumbles, “Those are terrible directions. I mean, keep going for how long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, you drive to the grocery store but continue until the next intersection!” amends Techno.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence falls over the car as Wilbur continues driving, occasionally wincing as he jolts the car to a stop at each traffic light or startling as cars pulled in front of him. He clears his throat and laughs nervously. “Hey, Tech, want to know something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Techno looks up from the traffic graphs on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgot your present, too.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i know it ends abruptly, but i'm really tired and have to do day 13 :/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Reindeer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>13th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Quackity gets Karl to go on a search for reindeer on the Dream SMP in hopes of bringing one back.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quackity screamed, “Karl! Are you READY?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HELL YEAH!” Karl punched the wall of the cabin and yelped, immediately cradling his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His friend cackled and slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit! That’s what we’re gonna do when we see any reindeer, you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl looked up and grinned through his tears. He asked, “Why do you hate reindeer, again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see,” Quackity answered pompously, “reindeer are </span>
  <em>
    <span>constantly</span>
  </em>
  <span> paraded around during Christmas. And the worst thing is, they’re ugly! What kind of cute animals are ever gray?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up at the ceiling in thought, Karl suggested, “Chinchillas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity shook his head and flopped back into his swivel chair. “I’m amazed you know what a chi-chiller is, or whatever you said, but I’m sure it’s not cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl sat next to Quackity in a matching chair and asked, “That’s why we’re going to find a reindeer and bring it back? Because it’s not cute?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re missing the point! It’s all about </span>
  <em>
    <span>demonstrating</span>
  </em>
  <span> that they’re gross.” Quackity stood up again and wobbled as the blood rushed to his feet. “We have to make people see one in-person, and the best way to do that is walk to the Arctic and get one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Karl grabbed the half-open backpack on the table next to them. He peeked inside and counted, “Two water bottles, some sandwiches, two pairs of gloves, and a hat. Who gets the hat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You,” said Quackity cheerfully. “It’s not like I need it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m built different.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded and zipped up the backpack. “Let’s get going now? I’d like to be back before dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!”</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>“Oh God, it’s so cold . . .” whined Karl. He stopped trudging through the snow and tugged his purple woollen hat so low over his ears that it nearly covered his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity mumbled something in agreement, wiping snow from his face before declaring, “The snowstorm is letting up, and we’re already in the Arctic. It should just be a little bit longer . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blizzard </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> slow down, and the two stumbled to a halt to watch the white flakes slowly drift to the ground. It left behind clear air and a brilliant blue sky for them to stare out into. The sun shone across the tundra and illuminated the pine trees, snow dunes, and the animals grazing there. The large, grey animals with</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, those are </span>
  <em>
    <span>REINDEER</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” cried Quackity, lunging at Karl and shaking his friend. His breath puffed in the frigid air but he continued to say, “Let’s go get them!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl nodded ferociously, rubbing his hands together. “We can sneak up behind those bushes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They dropped to a crawling position, leaving behind their backpack and slowly making their way across the crunching snow. Quackity dragged himself through the snow, pulling the coiled lead from his pocket. Behind him came the quiet noises of annoyance from Karl, who wiped snow from his hoodie and he made his way along the tundra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The herd was tantalizingly close, each horse-sized creature only standing and munching on grass a few feet away from the two people. Quackity glanced back at Karl, nudging the rope as a silent signal. Karl nodded, and they leaped up together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take this, reindeer!” shouted Karl as he leaped on one. Quackity tossed his lasso only for it to wrap around Karl’s leg and drag him off of the animal’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karl screamed as he fell to the ground, and the reindeer brayed in fear. The herd began to scatter and gallop towards the two men. They screamed, and Quackity began to drag Karl as the reindeer stampeded. They stumbled in the dunes of snow and could only bury their heads in their arms as the sea of hooves buried them.</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>The two woke up in a large bed, sweating and still hearing the drumming of hooves. Quackity rolled over to stare at Karl, who wiped his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a respawn, right?” mumbled Karl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity raised his arm from underneath the covers to survey the purple marks on it. “No, I don’t think so. Wouldn’t we be recovered?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to the wooden-walled room creaked open, and a piglin hybrid appeared. He stuck his snout in and surveyed the two. Quackity and Karl shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Technoblade smirked at them and declared, “Shouldn’t you be thanking me for saving you from those reindeer?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>all i know is el rapids supremacy, procrastinate on mcyt advent, eat hot chip, and lie</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Christmas Crackers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>14st day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Tubbo is enjoying a party in L'Manburg when he experiences some bad memories at the sound of Christmas crackers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tubbo grinned as his friends crowded around him and sat down at the gift-covered table. A few of the L’Manburgians uncovered the stack of shiny red-wrapped tubes from underneath the gift bags and boxes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy picked one up and called, “I get to be the first to open one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what are those—” interjected Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fox pulled the two sides apart as Niki clapped. The crack it made echoed around the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s skull was pierced, his brain matter scattered, his ribs bludgeoned as a phantom firework broke across his chest. His skin boiled until a confused voice broke through the red-and-blue sparks surrounding him:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Tubbo? You’re looking a little spacey there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo’s eyes were filled with concern even when obscured by his wispy bangs. He put a thin hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine!” replied Tubbo shakily. He made an effort to slow his breathing and asked, “So what are those again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy looked up from the golden spring, tinsel, and paper spilling from one of the red tubes. “A Christmas cracker! Look, they have jokes in them.” He picked up a strip of paper and read, “What do Santa’s helpers learn in school? The </span>
  <em>
    <span>elf-abet</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret stuck his fist in his mouth to avoid giggling as the others stared in disappointment at the joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that the best they could do?” asked Quackity. “Seriously, I can come up with something way better on the spot. Like, what does a backward Santa say? Oh-oh-oh!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Ranboo sat back down and commented, “I think Punz might’ve started with the ones on top, so maybe the jokes get better as we go down.” He pulled a cracker out, and Tubbo could only realize that with a few white stripes it would be indistinguishable from one of the rockets that had given him the streaks of scar tissue across his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranboo pulled apart the cracker, Tubbo jolted as the earsplitting— or was it quiet for everyone else? were they deaf to the echoes of rockets and Technoblade’s laugh?— noise broke his effort to concentrate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki leaned over Ranboo’s shoulder and read off the joke in a lilting voice. “What’s a snowman’s favorite food? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Snowflakes</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a boisterous laugh escaped from Eret. Fundy looked at them in bewilderment and they replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m not as cynical as all of you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo wiped his damp palms on the hem of his sweater, wincing as he stained the L’Manburg colors embroidered there. “Do you think we should move on to opening presents?” he proposed. “The jokes clearly aren’t getting better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pop caused him to flinch, but he quickly hid it with a forced laugh as Quackity dramatically pulled out his joke and recited, “What do you call it when a snowman has a temper tantrum? A meltdown!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meltdown” was a little vague for what Tubbo was feeling, he thought sardonically. Sweat dripped down his neck and he pushed himself up from his chair, mumbling an excuse before rushing to the bathroom. He collapsed in there, fingers barely able to twist the lock before he brought them to his face to muffle his sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if it weren’t for the noises, he’d be okay. Maybe the crater carved into his chest and the remnant of iron filings sprayed across his chin wouldn’t be stinging with phantom burns. Because if it hadn’t been for the firework’s explosion, then Tubbo’s death would have almost been beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beautiful. Red and blue sparks, yellow fire, sending him off on the stage under the remnants of L’manburg’s flag. Looking up from where he rocked back and forth on the cold bathroom tiles, Tubbo knew that it would have been better if he had truly died in that cage. It crept back up on him now, as the walls closed in until all he could see was the shadow of Technoblade loading his crossbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another cracker was popped, and his friends were probably laughing along too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t hear them anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just fireworks.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>heehoo writing traumatized teenagers goes brrrrrrrrrrrr</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Mulled Wine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>15th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Sleepy Bois Inc. have a movie night while enjoying mulled wine (while trying to justify giving alcohol to Tommy).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy looked over Phil’s shoulder and asked, “Why’d you just put oranges into that grape juice?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t be kidding me!” called Techno from his spot on the couch. “Have you never heard of wine before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huffing, Tommy rushed around the kitchen island to wag his finger in Techno’s face. “Listen here, Mr. Blade, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> had wine! So you can’t fault me for that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur turned the corner into the family room, waving at Phil before interrupting with,  “You haven’t had wine because you’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s enough, guys,” chided Phil. He looked up from where he dropped star anise and cinnamon sticks into the simmering pot. “Anyways, Tommy can technically drink. This counts as us buying the alcohol to drink privately at home, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” teased Techno. He raised his legs to his chest to let Wilbur jump onto the couch. “Were you trying to get Tommy drunk on the first day I come to visit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy laughed and tried to clamber onto the couch, but Wilbur protested and they pushed each other while Techno put away his phone to watch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil rolled his eyes at the commotion, before turning to pour a dash of brandy into the pot. “Listen, I’m making a whole pot of this so I figured I’d share it. Aren’t I generous?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Phil,” chorused the other three.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy grabbed Wilbur’s shoulder, yanking him off of the couch. He jumped onto the couch eagerly and stuck his tongue out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur declared, “No ruining this sweater!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno sighed and flicked a pink hair out of his face. “Okay, now this is getting boring. Can we choose a movie now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you choose </span>
  <em>
    <span>Up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’ll take away the remote!” said Phil, walking over from the kitchen and taking a seat. He gestured for Wilbur to grab the remote.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t going to vote for that, anyways,” complained Tommy. “I’m not that predictable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno snatched the remote away and rapidly clicked buttons to navigate to a streaming service. “Okay, I have a really good Christmas movie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” asked Phil skeptically. “You strike me as one of the people in a Hallmark movie who’d have to go to a small town and learn the true meaning of Christmas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed. “And there, he’d meet a handsome lumberjack—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno interrupted by shushing them. “The movie is starting!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other three were stunned by how quickly Techno had started, but Tommy was the first to read the title rolling across the screen: “A . . . li . . . en. That’s the one with the big monster, innit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really, Techno? You’re going to make us watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alien</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Christmas?” Wilbur shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s fine,” decided Phil. “I haven’t watched it so it’ll be cool!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno smirked and unfolded the blanket sitting on top of the couch, wrapping it around himself. He began to narrate the opening quote before a timer went off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil stood up and walked back into the kitchen to turn the stove off and stir the mulled wine gently bubbling in its pot. “A cup for each of you, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, don’t give the child alcohol, no!” whined Techno as Phil ladled out four cups of mulled wine and dropped a cinnamon stick in each of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sang, “It’s different in Britain!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sticking his tongue out at the pink-haired man, Tommy hopped up and skipped over to Phil to help take the mugs over. “Techno, Wilby— Wilbur, scoot over so we can all sit on the couch!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Phil interrupted by forcing a cup of wine into Wilbur’s hands before he could grin unbearably and start mocking Tommy. Taking a long sip, Wilbur joked, “Don’t try to win me over with a great drink when Tommy can be getting made fun of.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shut</span>
  </em>
  <span>! A cinematic masterpiece is starting!” exclaimed Techno. He dug himself further into the couch and grinned as he unpaused the movie. His smile was contagious, and the other three nodded along as a spaceship drifted across the TV screen.</span>
</p>
<ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur yawned and drained the last dregs in his mug. “Nice movie, but I would have preferred less jumpscares so I didn’t scald myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Home Alone</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t have jumpscares,” Phil mused. “So for a Christmas movie this wasn’t that bad, and I liked the xenomorph!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sandwiched between them, Techno only shook his head. He sighed, “How are you all drunk on mulled wine anyways? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alien</span>
  </em>
  <span> shouldn't be experienced tipsy off of barely-alcoholic cider.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be so huffy!” Phil ruffled Techno’s pink hair and grinned. “I just said I liked the movie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur looked at Tommy to his right, who had come to rest his head on the older man’s shoulder. “I think Tommy’s asleep. Do you reckon he’s gonna wake up hungover?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno stared at the snoring teen, who still gripped his full cup of wine. “No, it just looks like he fell asleep. I can’t believe it . . . He must have slept through the chestburster scene, or he’d be too scared to go to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing up and stretching, Phil chuckled softly. “Well, he should get some rest before you force us to watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aliens</span>
  </em>
  <span> tomorrow. Can you carry him to the guest bedroom?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Techno gently pried Tommy’s fingers from the cup, which was still warm. He meandered over to the kitchen counter to set it down while Wilbur draped the blanket over Tommy’s shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s head lolled as Techno scooped him up and made his way into the guest bedroom, struggling to not drop the teen too harshly on the mattress. “Goodnight, Tommy,” Techno whispered. His breath still smelled of cinnamon, but Tommy probably wouldn’t mind.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Wrapping Paper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>16th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Tommy tries wrapping a present, but it doesn't go so well and he has a breakdown.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the sbi foster family aus finally got me, send help</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy stared helplessly at the rolls of wrapping paper before grabbing the one closest to him. It was shiny red with gold stripes, and he silently apologized for how he was about to mangle it. His movements were hesitant as he set his present, a DVD box, in the middle of the paper. He cut off a large swath of paper and pushed the roll of paper away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How did you wrap presents, again? Frowning, Tommy tried to fold in all of the sides of the paper. His fingers accidentally pockmarked it as the paper was pushed into the carpet, and he winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Tommy cut the second piece and futilely creased the edges, his eyes began to well with tears. It would be easier if he had instructions, but no one was home and he couldn’t ask for the computer password, and really this was all because Tommy was too stupid to think of asking for the password before his family went out to buy presents. Even when Wilbur and Techno had been nice, Tommy was so stubborn to refuse their help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled in his eyes as he tried to wrap the DVD box only to find that the wrapping paper’s edges wouldn’t meet. A sob escaped him. Tommy crumpled up the paper and tossed it across the living room. He grabbed the scissors and the roll of paper, shearing off another larger chunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His next attempt was a failure and he tore apart the sloppily-creased sheet. Another chunk was cut away from the roll and fruitlessly pulled around the thin box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wiped his face with a hand before starting to randomly fold the edges of the wrapping paper, trying to stumble across the right combination. He seized the roll of tape sitting behind him and tore off strips with his trembling fingers. The taping was messy, sticky strips on top of uneven edges and crumpled sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too much for Tommy, who pushed away the lumpy box and buried his face in his hands. His crying was soft but his mind screamed at him. He was such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck-up</span>
  </em>
  <span> and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all those other epithets filled with words that Tommy knew his mouth was going to be scrubbed out with soap for. Hopefully Phil made it quick. Suddenly everything seemed louder, from his labored breathing to his sobbing to the noises of tears dripping onto the scrap-covered carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The click of the front door being unlocked startled Tommy from crying. He began to hyperventilate, frantically scrambling to scoop up the red paper balls scattered across the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, we’re home!” called Phil, entering the house with a shopping bag swinging from his hand. His eyes landed on Tommy, who continued to weep as he dropped his armful of wrapping paper. “Wait, kiddo, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno and Wilbur awkwardly made their way into the house, lingering by the door before quickly ascending the stairs to their bedroom. Phil approached Tommy, who recoiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy whimpered, “I didn’t mean to mess the wrapping paper up. I know you’re mad at me but I swear I didn’t mean to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil crouched in front of him, setting down the bag, and said softly, “I’d never get mad at you, Tommy, especially not for something as small as this.” He tentatively reached out to pat the boy on the shoulder. “Do you want me to wrap that present for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was your present,” Tommy replied plaintively. A trail of snot dripped down his face and he wiped it away with his hand messily. “I have to give it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well . . . do you want Techno and Wilbur to teach you?” asked Phil. “They’re pretty good at this stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sniffled. “Are you sure they won’t be mad at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, kiddo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy stood up and clutched the DVD case. He mumbled his thanks to Phil before making his way towards the stairs and heading up to where Techno and Wilbur’s room was. Tommy caught the faint noise of Phil sighing before the man stood up to put away his shopping bag full of presents. What did that sigh mean? he wondered. Pushing the thought away, Tommy hesitantly knocked on the bedroom door.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>did u call for help yet? i'm still being dragged into the pit of foster au fics</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Mistletoe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>17th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! During a Christmas party, mistletoe terrorizes any couple that go through the door.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yes it's a drabble<br/>yes i'm lazy<br/>yes i made a drabble and still went over the 100 word count<br/>what can i say except "you're welcome"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Watch out for the mistletoe!” called Techno. He grinned and made his way over to the door past the people chatting across the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil and Kristen laughed and entered the house in single file, but Kristen still pressed a kiss to Phil’s cheek before heading over to the punch table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil walked over to Techno and asked over the chatter: “Who set the mistletoe up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that was Vurb. He caught Skeppy and Bad earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, and Phil turned to see Dream and George walking in together. Techno slammed his hand over Phil’s mouth to silence his warning. Techno cried, “Loverbird alert!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream sputtered and stared up at the plant hanging above them. George rolled his eyes and suddenly grabbed Dream by the scarf, pulling him in for a kiss.</span>
</p><p>"Happy now?" shouted George cheerfully as his friends around him giggled.</p><p>"Yeah," said Dream faintly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Caroling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>18th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Ranboo and Tommy decide to have some fun at Techno's Arctic base and scream Christmas songs.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this may be bad but i command u to kudos anyway &gt;:D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Oh, bring us some figgy pudding,” warbled Ranboo. He noticed Techno’s glare and paused before humming the rest of the song softly. “Hm-hm-hm-hm—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno dropped his roll of Christmas lights and covered his ears. “Stop! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> that song!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Tommy popped his head out from the basement and asked, “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It only appears during Christmas and it’s only sung by people outside of your doorstep begging for food!” The piglin man shook his head and pinched the bridge of his snout. “I mean, begging for figgy pudding? Imagine stooping that low . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy burst into song, waving his arms around underneath his heavy blue cape. “WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS, WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!” His grin was wide and didn’t budge even as Techno fixed him with another withering stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo joined in suddenly and chimed, “We won’t go until we get some, we won’t go until we get some . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno could only groan and pull on a pair of earmuffs. He stomped out of the house and shouted over the two: “I’m gonna go into L’Manburg to try and reclaim Technodrill, okay?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we come with you?” pleaded Ranboo. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen Jjjjjjjjefrey and I don’t know whether Niki has been feeding him enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hesitated and mumbled, “I don’t wanna go back there, actually. I thought we were just gonna hang up lights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how will we carol?” asked Ranboo. He craned his head down and caught the anxiety marring Tommy’s expression, which had just been happy moments ago. Something was bothering him and it didn’t seem like L’Manburg would be a good distraction. “Actually, never mind, we can carol here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shorter teen looked up, confused. “And just sing to Carl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo laughed and nodded. “Sure, and we can come up with our own song or something! Then Techno can come back and we can pester him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds terrible,” deadpanned Techno from just outside the door. He pulled his traveling cloak tighter around himself and fastened its clasps while reciting, “No stealing, no arson, no cobblestone towers, and definitely no singing so loudly that someone finds us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing, Ranboo crossed his heart and swore, “None of that stuff here, Mr. Blade."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, maybe some of that stuff,” piped Tommy, mimicking the way Ranboo drew an X across his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It almost seemed like Tommy used his middle finger, but the gesture was so quick that Ranboo could only know that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> flipping off Techno when the pig huffed “I’ll pretend I didn’t see that” and slammed the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned away and busied himself with untying the knots that had formed in the lights that Techno dropped on the ground. “Y’know, Ranboob, I don’t very much feel like coming up with my own Christmas song.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll sing some more of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ if you don’t call me that again,” negotiated Ranboo. “That, or I teach you ‘White Winter Hymnal’ since that seemed to be the song you liked the least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, Ran- Ranboo, of course I don’t like that song! Why are swallows wearing scarves anyways?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s something about getting beheaded, Tommy.” Ranboo collapsed into the bay window seat, sticking his long legs out in front of him and playing with the loose yarn of his woollen coat. It was easy to pick the teal and white strands apart with his long fingernails, which paradoxically had grown out even though he was doing more physical labor in the Arctic than ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tommy exclaimed. “I like it a bit more now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stifling a laugh, Ranboo asked, “Do you want to go harass Carl now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy set the neat coil of Christmas lights down, bursting into song. “Jingle BELLS, jingles BELLS, jingle ALL THE WAY—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, let’s bring that energy to Carl!” shouted Ranboo over the din. He joined the chorus with Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two left the cabin, howling out the lyrics as they marched towards the stables. Music pierced the chilly air, probably carrying across the tundra, but the teens continued. Carl didn’t seem to appreciate the screaming, but the horse was a better audience than no one. And as Ranboo wiped mirthful tears from his eyes and attempted to talk Tommy down from another round of “Jingle Bells,” he was glad that they weren’t caroling at the empty houses of L’manburg.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>19th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Ranboo notices Tubbo is acting strangely during a sleepover with the L'Manburgians and reassures him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sleep-deprived continuation of day 14 ;/</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tubbo stared ahead at the wall in front of him, letting his eyes slide towards the strands of tinsel hung there. He couldn’t focus on what story Fundy was recounting with large arm movements, he couldn’t focus on the laughs of the others, he couldn’t focus on the blankets draped across his legs that both keep him tethered to an itchy wool reality but seem to become lighter with every second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo?” asked Niki hesitantly. She looked up from her seat on the carpet. “Are you tired or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we can always let you go back home and sleep.” That was Ranboo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quackity mused, “If Tubbo goes to sleep first, then can we find something less child-friendly than checkers to do? I thought this party would be slightly more interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret stuck his tongue out at Quackity. “No being inappropriate at a Christmas party, it defeats the point of being wholesome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Struggling to bring his eyes from the spot where they were stuck, Tubbo replied, “I’m not that tired. Uh . . . How late is it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo checked the communicator on his wrist and answered, “It’s just past eight, so maybe we should start going to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy stood up and glanced through the window. Snow swirled around and filled the air just past the glass. “Can’t we just stay here? We have the couches and the futons, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t you opposed to staying the night?” asked Eret, who got up from the floor and reclined on one of the three couches of the living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was before I realized I’d have to wade through all of that snow in sneakers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki decided, “Let’s set up blankets, then!” She clapped her hands and jumped up. “I’ll pull out the couches. Quackity, can you help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo stretched his long limbs out, attempting not to kick Tubbo, who sat silently next to him. “C’mon, Tubbo, let’s go grab some from the cabinets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” croaked Tubbo. He stood up shakily and followed the other teen down the hallway where Ranboo crouched down to grab a stack of wooly blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh . . .” Ranboo swallowed awkwardly before asking softly, “Did something happen earlier? It kind of seemed like you were freaked out when you went to the bathroom, and you were in there for, um, a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down, Tubbo took a few blankets in his arms before answering, “I’m . . . fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo bit his lip and one pearly-white fang stuck out. “That was really unconvincing, okay? You can say anything to me, Tubbo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled in Tuboo’s eyes. “But it was such a stupid thing to get upset over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” The taller teen brushed away his bangs to better look at Tubbo. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just the Christmas crackers,” mumbled Tubbo. His eyes squeezed shut and tears dripped from them. “It just . . . reminded me of some bad stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo tentatively set his arm around Tubbo’s shoulders. He patted Tubbo gently before saying, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. But I can also tell the others that maybe you aren’t up for stuff like that tomorrow. We’re all here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” Tubbo wiped his eyes and stood up. “Let’s go give them the blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo nodded, reshaping his concerned frown into a smile as he followed Tubbo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took the group of people a while to help lay out the blankets and pillows across the couches, but eventually they had created a surface for all five of them to lay down on. Jackets were taken off, lights were switched off, and goodnights were murmured as the L’Manburgians settled under the plethora of covers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo closed his eyes and let Niki’s gentle breathing and Quackity’s not-so-gentle snoring drown out the noises of explosions that had tried to creep into his ears. His arms brushed against Ranboo’s thinner ones, but Tubbo didn’t move, instead ignoring it in favor of giving into his fatigue. It was easy to let the warmth wipe away the fear, and it welcomed Tubbo as he fell asleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sometimes . . . you have to write an underwhelming sequel to a previous prompt and project your need for human contact onto dream smp characters . . .</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Presents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>20th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! CaptainSparklez and Jericho enjoy a walk around the island and plan to start a business.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fuckin' wheezing bc it's just my secret santa fic but it's also a "present" for somebody so it counts XD</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221060</p><p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div class="userstuff">
    <p>Jordan leaned back and wiped the sweat off of his brow. The sun beat down on him and he sat down on the porch of his house. A voice carried through the humid air and made him look up.</p>
    <p>Jericho made his way towards Jordan, waving cheerfully and shouting, “Hey, Sparklez!” He stomped across the sandy beach and eventually came to a stop next to his friend. “What’s up?”</p>
    <p>“Oh, nothing much. Just cleaning off these cobwebs that someone placed here. Can you believe that a gift from the gods would be used to fill up my house?” He rolled his eyes and leaned back onto the fence of his porch.</p>
    <p>“Can I join you? I’ve got some food that I thought you’d like, and some lemonade.”</p>
    <p>“Sure!”</p>
    <p>Plopping down, Jericho unslung his backpack and opened it to reveal a full lunch and two glass bottles of lemonade. He handed one to Jordan and asked, “Do you like turkey and cheese, or ham and cheese? Or peanut butter and jelly?”</p>
    <p>Jordan laughed and grabbed the ham and cheese sandwich, quickly unwrapping it from its paper. “I’m so hungry, I don’t mind anything.”</p>
    <p>“Yeah, it seemed like you’d been working for a while.” Jericho unwrapped the turkey sandwich and dug into it while his friend started to talk.</p>
    <p>“It was pretty annoying that I’d just finished the house,” sighed Jordan. His complaints were cut off as he took a swig of his drink. “But it’s okay since I had a few pairs of shears lying around. What’s up with you?”</p>
    <p>His friend swallowed a chunk of bread and wiped his mouth with a green glove before saying, “Well, how’d you react if I told you that I found out who messed up Casa de Sparklez?”</p>
    <p>“Well,” Jordan laughed, “I’d probably just go tell them not to do it again.”</p>
    <p>Jericho shook his head, but smiled. “You’re too nice. <em>I </em>was thinking that I would go find their base and take their Silk Touch shears.”</p>
    <p>“Ooh . . .” mused Jordan. He tore a chunk off of his sandwich and contemplated while he finished it. “Not a gift from the gods, huh, but just shears? I do like the sound of stealing those. Who’s the suspect?”</p>
    <p>Putting down his food, Jericho awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s Champwan.”</p>
    <p>“Ugh, no, I don’t feel like taking an arrow to the brain!”</p>
    <p>“C’mon, Sparklez, this’ll be such a good opportunity! I hear he’s off building his stables and we can just sneak in there.”</p>
    <p>Jordan rolled his eyes and stretched his legs. “I guess I’ve always wanted to do a heist!”</p>
    <p>The two laughed and began to pack up the lunch as Jericho laid out their plan: search the forests of the island for any location of a secret base, infiltrate and disable any traps, then loot the chests.</p>
    <p>“That’s such a bad idea,” admitted Jordan. He took up the backpack and hopped down the porch and waited for his friend to catch up before starting to make his way down the beach. “Like, what if we don’t find the base at all?”</p>
    <p>The waves lapped at their feet, and Jericho slowed to watch the seafoam settle on the sand before being pulled back in. A crab scuttled in front of Jordan’s path and he stopped too. They stared out at the glittering sea, illuminated by the blazing sun that sat squarely in the cloudless sky. A seagull cawed, only adding to the idyllic beachside scene.</p>
    <p>“It would be kind of rude to waste such a nice day on stealing,” sighed Jericho.</p>
    <p>“Maybe we should hold off and do something nicer. Like, selling lemonade!” Jordan looked at Jericho and grinned. “We could set up a stand and everything!”</p>
    <p>Jericho made a humming noise and thought before replying, “That doesn’t sound that bad, actually. Should we send a comm over to Firefoxx and ask for some supplies to make a stall and paint a banner?”</p>
    <p>“On it!” answered Jordan, already typing a message into the communicator strapped to his wrist.</p>
    <p>A <em>ping </em>rang out to show that a message had been sent in reply, and Jordan pumped his fist in the air. “She says that we just have to go over to her house and she’ll give us some paint!”</p>
    <p>Jericho grinned and pointed towards the horizon. “It’s gonna be the scenic route since we’re not near any Nether portals, alright?”</p>
    <p>“Yeah, sure,” said Jordan cheerfully. He adjusted his backpack and started walking with Jericho across the shoreline, kicking up the occasional puff of sand as they focused more on talking than walking. “So, what are you planning for the next Purge?”</p>
    <p>“Why do you ask?” Jericho said, his voice mock-wary. “Are there secrets you want to know, Sparklez?”</p>
    <p>Jordan laughed. “No, seriously, I was just wondering because I was curious.” He shaded his eyes from the sun, which still penetrated the canopy of palm leaves and vines even as they moved closer into the tropical forest.</p>
    <p>Jericho nodded and stepped over the tendrils of vines that traced their way across the worn dirt path. He said lightly, “I know that you’re not planning to stab me in the back or anything. But it’s not like I want to give away all my plans, you know?”</p>
    <p>“Yeah,” answered Jordan, slightly distracted by trying to rummage through the backpack for a bottle of lemonade. “You want a drink?”</p>
    <p>“Sure, thanks!” answered the other man, taking the drink and gulping some down. Jericho sat down on “How far from Firefoxx’s house are we?”</p>
    <p>Jordan grinned and finished sipping from his lemonade. “Right over there,” he laughed while pointing to the mountain visible past the plethora of palm leaves and flower-studded tree trunks.</p>
    <p>Firefoxx, visible as a blur of orange, ran from down the hillside and met the men in the meadow leading up to her home. She piped, “Sparklez, Jericho! I heard you wanted to make a lemonade stand!”</p>
    <p>“Heck yeah, we do!” replied Jordan cheerfully.</p>
    <p>Jericho added, “We can borrow some fences and supplies for a sign, right?”</p>
    <p>“Of course!” Firefoxx grinned and turned, gesturing for the men to follow here. “I couldn’t bring all of the wood down, but I figured you’d want to choose the colors anyway.”</p>
    <p>The three traversed the path up to the mountain, eager to catch up. Jericho took the job of recounting their “journey” while Firefoxx nodded along and occasionally recounted the small details of her day.</p>
    <p>“So,” she announced, throwing open her door once they had reached the home at the top of the trail, “take your pick of building supplies!”</p>
    <p>Jordan gasped melodramatically at the pile of logs and the cans of paint, though there was some true surprise there. “Were you waiting for this, or something?”</p>
    <p>“No . . . yeah . . .”</p>
    <p>Jericho laughed and set his arm around Firefoxx. He playfully asked, “Do you want to join in the work because you’re so excited to see our lemonade stand?”</p>
    <p>Firefoxx’s expression was exasperated, but she joined Jordan in sitting down and pulled Jericho with her. She declared, “Let’s get started! First, the logo—”</p>
    <p>Jordan immediately held up a bolt of yellow felt and proposed, “A lemon?”</p>
    <p>The other two nodded and Firefoxx reached for a pair of scissors, grabbing them and twirling then around her finger.</p>
    <p>“Don’t wave those around!” chided Jordan. He slid the sunshine-colored fabric over to Firefoxx and questioned Jericho, “What kind of wood do you want to use?”</p>
    <p>“Birch looks fine, and it matches the yellow,” decided the other man. His movements were deft and he took up a branch of the pale wood. He pulled a pocket knife from the discarded backpack and began whittling away.</p>
    <p>Firefoxx teased, “Are you going to use that on other people to get them to buy your stuff?”</p>
    <p>The three laughed. Their work was hard, and Jericho fumed as he couldn’t fit two stand legs together, but it was enjoyable. Wasn’t that what mattered? Not the cobwebs, not the plans of thievery, not even the gods. It was all about the people enjoying their day together in the perfect calm before the storm.</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Turkey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>21st day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Purpled is in a funk when Punz calls him down to help prepare a turkey for cooking.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my brain is only purpled, punz, and ponk as brothers</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Purpled hummed to himself, waiting for Hypixel to reload. He kicked off of one of his table’s legs and began to spin, his rotations matching each animation of the buffering symbol on his screen. It was barely a minute until he was dizzy and had to stop. The room, full of old family pictures and posters pinned to the wall, spun around him and gradually slowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Bedwars game still hadn’t loaded, and Purpled sighed. His video idea probably wasn’t going to happen, then. And during Christmas break, no less! The fact that his free time couldn’t be spent doing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>one thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was actually good at made Purpled sigh and stumble from his chair into his bed. He sighed again and wondered if he’d actually be able to take a nap. The blinds were open, letting clear morning light into his room but Purpled only rolled over. It was too tiring to walk over and draw them shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Purpled! Get your butt down here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes snapped open. Purpled was shaken from his sleep by the shouting of Punz and blearily yelled back, “What do you even need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps made their way upstairs and Punz stuck his head into the bedroom. “C’mon,” he declared, “you have to help me cook this turkey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I can’t cook,” replied Purpled morosely. “Can you leave me alone? I was sleeping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz stepped over and gently shook his brother. “Please? Ponk isn’t going to be home until late and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> how tired he’d be. Also, do I need to mention that you shouldn’t be napping when it’s barely noon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking slowly, Purpled sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Wait, it’s already noon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, dude.” Punz looked down at the teen with clear concern. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, I’m fine. Let’s just start,” groaned Purpled. He stood and pushed past Punz, heading towards the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz shook his head woefully and traipsed down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two made their way into the kitchen, which was scattered with wire racks and the occasional kitchen implement. Purpled grabbed a spatula from the counter and toyed with it while asking, “So, where’s the turkey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the fridge,” answered Punz. He walked over to the fridge and opened it, pointing at the large basin there. “Help me get it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purpled walked over and helped his brother haul out the plastic box and yelped as the turkey in its bag rolled around and nearly tipped out. They lowered the basin to the tile floor and Punz asked, “Can you grab some rubber gloves before we break open this turkey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re breaking it?” wondered Purpled, staring down at the hunk of meat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s called ‘spatchcocking’ and Ponk told us to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purpled shrugged and said, “Whatever. I’ll go get the gloves.” Out of the corner of his eye, Purpled caught Punz biting his lip in an attempt to not look worried. He turned and made his way to the bathroom. It was quick work opening the cabinet under the sink and shaking out some rubber gloves before walking back</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz thanked Purpled and pulled on his pair of gloves, letting them snap back dramatically. “Roll up your sleeves, Purp, I don’t want you to ruin my hoodie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purpled rolled up his sleeves listlessly, barely looking at his hands as he pulled gloves on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Purp, why are you being like this?” blurted Punz. He moved forward and held Purpled by the shoulders. “I know you should be laughing or at least trying not to laugh when I say stupid shit like ‘spatchcocking’ or complaining when I call your hoodie mine, why can’t you just not look so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz withdrew as Purpled sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I’m just tired, okay? It’s just a bad day,” mumbles the teen. The lies died on his lips and tears began to spill from his eyes. “It’s just so stupid of me to be so sad over not being able to record a video, but . . . I’m not good at anything else. Why do you want me to mess up this turkey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” replied Punz sardonically, “I needed help anyway.” He shook his head and smiled, wiping away one of Purpled’s tears with his thumb. “You don’t need to worry, okay? This is no-stakes family bonding time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purpled nodded and wiped his face with a gloved hand. He stared back at the turkey and moved over to it, before mumbling something that he hoped Punz would understand as asking for instructions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz squatted next to the turkey box and asked, “Would you go set some newspaper out so we can put it down and break it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brother nodded and moved to the recycling bin, grabbing the stack of newspapers there and unfolding it across the floor. Sighing, Purpled deftly moved them and helped Punz lift the turkey out of its brining bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just have to break the legs since Ponk and I already took the spine out,” mused Punz. “Hey, just, uh, pretend the legs are your problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t work that way,” replied Purpled, though his lips were tugged into a smile. “But thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Punz rolled his eyes and locked his arms before cracking one of the turkey’s legs. “Join me in getting frustrations out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, okay.” He adjusted a glove before pushing down the turkey’s other leg and smiling as the two crushed it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you’d cheer up, Purp,” said Punz affectionately.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Stockings by the Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>22nd day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Ranboo and Jjjjjjjjeffrey get a surprise visitor while sitting around the house.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i love fundy and ranboo's friendship so much :,)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ranboo reclined against the couch, putting a hand to his mouth before yawning. Jjjjjjjjeffrey purred and hopped up onto his lap, kneading the blankets there before curling up. </span>
  <span>“C’mon, what if I need to get up?” complained Ranboo as the cat made himself comfortable. “Well . . . I guess you’re too cute to move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jjjjjjjjeffrey responded with a lazy meow and flicked his tail against Ranboo’s hand rhythmically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his eyes, Ranboo pet Jjjjjjjjeffrey and scratched behind the cat’s white-spotted ears. “I guess I have to make up for leaving you alone to mess around with the Techno up in the Arctic, huh?” He waited for his cat’s purr and nodded sagely. “So I have to make this a really good Christmas for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell to his cottage rang, and Ranboo bit his lip and let one fang stick out in a petulant fashion. He sighed, “Sorry, buddy, I have to move you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Protesting with a yowl, Jjjjjjjjeffrey hopped to the floor as Ranboo stood up and followed the enderman to the door. The cat wove between Ranboo’s legs and he yelped, “I don’t want to step on you!” He carefully danced around Jjjjjjjjeffrey and pulled the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy shifted on the snow-covered porch, and readjusted the bundle in his arms to wave. “Hey, Ranboo!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fundy, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at your own house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“HA,” laughed Fundy in a strained voice, “I just wanted to come by! My house is . . . uh . . . a little lonely. Actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo avoided asking something out of concern, and just nodded. He picked up Jjjjjjjjeffrey before he could dash out of the door, and hugged him. “Come on in, I have some food reheating and there’s hot cocoa in a pot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranboo, have I ever told you how nice you are?” asked Fundy as he closed the door behind himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice. Really, just take some hot cocoa and sit down to help me not die of boredom.” Ranboo set Jjjjjjjjeffrey down onto the carpeted floor and moved to the stove, ladling out hot cocoa into two mugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy meandered around the small cottage, examining the cat tree tucked in the corner and scratching the sisal with one claw. Jjjjjjjjeffrey made his way towards the fox and nuzzled his leg before pawing at Fundy’s tail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy drew up his tail, sitting down to run his paws across Jjjjjjjjeffrey’s forehead. “Ranboo, your cat is cute, but he doesn’t know about personal space!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo laughed boisterously and made his way over with the two steaming mugs. He clarified, “I probably should have told you that Jjjjjjjjeffrey is clingy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two sipped from their drinks and watched as Jjjjjjjjeffrey clambered atop the cat tree. With a purr, the cat settled on top of the highest branch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” began Ranboo, “why’d you come over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy gestured to the pile of cloth next to him. “Stockings!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo gasped dramatically and lifted the socks before narrowing his two-toned eyes. He demanded, “Did you really mix in normal socks with the stockings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, shi— shoot. I was out of laundry baskets, alright?” Fundy reached over and separated the normal ankle socks and brought out the fuzzy stockings. He grinned toothily as he shook a couple to hear the bells jingle along the fur-lined openings. “I can hang ours up over your fireplace, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there a reason why you don’t want to hang yours up at your house?” asked Ranboo. He sipped more from his mug as the fox answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy waved his hand awkwardly before exclaiming, “It’s lonely there! You’ve got a cat, meanwhile I’m by myself while Tubbo is off spending his Christmas at the guardian farm or something.” His tone was playful but his smile slumped down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad that you came by my house, though, it’s nice. Can I choose my stocking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a few of the glittery red stockings, Ranboo leafed through them and finally selected one with glass snowflakes sewn on. “Awww, did you make all of these yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning, Fundy responded, “Yeah. I kind of wanted to pass them out for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jjjjjjjjeffrey meowed and reached out a white paw for the stockings. Ranboo smiled and handed the cat one of Fundy’s plain socks. The cat batted it around and mewed contentedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo grabbed Fundy’s bell-covered stocking and his own, standing up and moving to the fireplace. He hung them up and mused, “Should we start the fire? It could get a little cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy nodded and got up to grab some firewood from the rack in the corner of the room, but stopped as Jjjjjjjjeffrey leaped from the cat tree and padded in front of his path. “Uh, Ranboo, your cat is being clingy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I warned you,” sang the teen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two quickly set up the logs, and Ranboo took on the job of holding Jjjjjjjjeffrey back as Fundy lit them. They sat on the couch, tugging the blankets back and forth until Fundy finally gave up and admitted that his fur was actually enough. Behind the glass, the fire grew and grew until its popping filled the silence of the now-warm house. Purring sweetly, Jjjjjjjjeffrey made his way onto Ranboo’s lap and nestled himself into the fleece blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe in Santa,” blurted Fundy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo burst out into laughter and responded, “I’m pretty sure that’s true for everyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fox rolled his eyes. “Okay, sure. I guess I just wanted to share, now that I’ve got someone to talk to. And also to say that nothing’s going to appear in the stockings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude,” Ranboo asked lightly, “Just how lonely </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um . . . what’s that amendment that you Americans plead whenever you might get into trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With another chuckle, Ranboo supplied, “The Fifth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I plead on the Fifth that I’m not lonely, just glad to be hanging out with somebody for Christmas.” Fundy looked at the stockings silhouetted by the fireplace’s glow. “It’s nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranboo scratched around Jjjjjjjjeffrey’s ears before murmuring, “Yeah. It is.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Home for Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>23rd day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! A 5+1 exploring the times Skeppy has come home to Bad for Christmas (and one he didn't).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bad threw open his door and exclaimed, “Skeppy! You’re finally here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” replied Skeppy cheerily, taking off his diamond helmet and holding it against his hip. “I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to take advantage of you getting this nice plot of land on Dream’s server.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did it take you to get from Munchy to here?” asked Bad, closing the door behind his friend as snow began to fall and dust the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy hemmed and hawed before answering, “Like, a week or so. But at least I got here for Christmas Eve, right?” He laughed and set his helmet down on the table standing next to the small house’s entrance.</span>
</p><p>Bad gasped. “I would’ve met you halfway to save you the trouble!”</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, but I wanted to see your Christmas celebrations here! It’s been forever since I saw Dream and the others,” sighed Skeppy.</span>
</p><p>“Okay, but next year you don’t need to, alright?” Bad smiled and gestured to the living room, where a Christmas tree stood adorned with ornaments. “Hopefully that was worth the trip.”</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy nodded and grinned. “Next year, I’ll actually help decorate it, alright?”</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ba-ad</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” sang Skeppy. He poked his head through the door of the cabin, looking around. “Bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skeppy?!” shouted a voice from upstairs. Bad flew from one of the rooms, barely visible as he leaped down the stairs in only a few steps, skidding to a stop in front of Skeppy. “I didn’t know you’d get here in time for Christmas!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy covered his mouth to giggle and pointed out, “Your tail is wagging, Bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad turned to see his spade-tipped tail waving frantically behind him, and laughed along with his friend. “Okay, call it a habit. I’m just so glad to see you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m glad to see you too, you big sap,” teased Skeppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad tugged Skeppy’s arm and dragged him to the living room, where the fireplace roared and illuminated a bare pine tree. “I left it bare for us to decorate, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy rolled his eyes and nodded. “I’d never forget, Bad.”</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>Skeppy knocked on the door to Bad’s home and adjusted his weight from one foot to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise of the door’s lock rapidly unlatching was audible, seemingly piercing the cold air. Skeppy nearly leaped into Bad’s arms as the demon leaned out from behind the door</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W- wh- Skeppy?” cried Bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad, I just got the greatest news!” Skeppy withdrew and removed his helmet to avoid the cube’s points from poking his friend. “Dream told me that I can stay here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad jumped up, clapping his hands before grabbing Skeppy by his sleeve and dragging him inside. “Okay, so, I already decorated the tree, but I put out a stocking for you! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’d come back—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I would!” declared Skeppy, pushing the door shut behind himself before continuing over to the living room. “You’re never getting rid of me, Bad!”</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>“Our first Christmas together,” sang Bad. “How niii-ice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy blushed and interjected, “Ignore him. He’s pretending that since I didn’t have to come from Munchy, I haven’t been here before. Obviously, I know this place like the back of my hand—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy laughed as Bad responded, “You haven’t even figured out where to put the ornaments!”</span>
</p><p>Skeppy covered his face and mumbled through his fingers, “There isn’t supposed to be an order to where you put them on.”</p><p>“I see you’re enjoying getting to spend the holidays together,” said Fundy with a chuckle. He shifted on the couch where he sat and asked, “What do you do during Christmas?”</p><p>“This softie likes to sleep downstairs and try to catch Santa Claus,” snarked Skeppy, taking his hands away from his face. “It makes it so hard to eat the cookies and milk in the middle of the night.”</p><p>Fundy burst into laughter, while Bad tried not to giggle in spite of his air of exasperation.</p><p>“No presents for either of you,” joked the demon.</p><ul>
<li><span>• •</span></li>
</ul><p>Bad lounged on the couch, sighing as he stared at his feet that hung over the other side of the couch. Above him, snow filled the window and left a chill that pervaded the house. The demon slowly stood up and moved to stir up the logs in his fireplace. He didn't bother with a poker, instead rolling up the sleeve of his glittery sweater before putting his arm in and turning the logs.</p><p>
  <span>From behind him, a knock on the door rang out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Bad a minute to withdraw his arm and blow embers back into the fireplace, then he meandered towards the door. “Who’s there?”</span>
</p><p>“Bad?” came the muffled voice through the wood.</p><p>“Skeppy!” shouted Bad, throwing open the door and barely looking before wrapping the teal-clothed figure in a tight hug.</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy closed his eyes beneath his helmet, sinking into Bad’s embrace, saying, “Yeah, yeah, you sap! I missed you too.” He patted Bad on the back. “So, were you expecting me?”</span>
</p><p>Bad rolled his eyes. “Listen, it was mean of you to leave but this almost makes up for it. Muffin.”</p><p>
  <span>The two stared at each other silently for a second, before Skeppy ruffled Bad’s hair. He tapped the horns that rose from the demon’s forehead. “Let’s go hang up the ornaments, okay?”</span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> • •</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>“Skeppy?” whispered Bad, fidgeting as he stood at the top of the staircase that led into the musty cave. “Are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” responded a monotone voice. From the darker depths, Skeppy— Bad’s thoughts stalled as he was struck with the memories of carving that barely-recognizable figure from the grip of red tentacles —emerged in his crimson-tinted helmet and jacket. “Who’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad squeezed the hem of his jacket, looking down. “It’s me, Bad. I was wondering . . . if you wanted to come home for Christmas Eve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy shook his head. His answer was solemn, echoing around the stone walls. “You’re talking to the wrong person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I</span>
  <em>
    <span> am</span>
  </em>
  <span> talking to the right person,” choked Bad. “Aren’t you there, Skeppy?” He moved down the stairs, reaching out for the red shell of his friend. The demon’s fingers barely traced the edges of Skeppy’s helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bad pleaded, “Isn’t it you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skeppy stared back, then jerked Bad’s hands away. “Leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now weeping, Bad turned on his heel and rushed out of the cave. The wintry air bit at his skin, but what hurt the most were the icy tears rolling down his face. He barely paid attention as he trekked back to his house through the dunes of snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, a bare Christmas tree greeted him. Bad collapsed in front of it and wept.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>wrote the last part of this listening to an orchestral cover of "god knows" and holy shit did it hurt</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. NORAD Santa Tracker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>24th day of my MCYT Advent Prompts! Tommy decides to show off the NORAD Santa Tracker and gets made fun of, just a little.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Holy hell!” exclaimed Tommy. “Guys, come look at this website. Apparently this </span>
  <em>
    <span>tracks</span>
  </em>
  <span> Santa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno walked over, surveying the computer screen. “Oh, NORAD. That’s a fun website but it’s not like it matters much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his spot on the couch, Phil called, “Techno, don’t ruin Christmas for the poor boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you implying that Santa isn’t real, Techno?” joked Wilbur from where he spread butter on multiple slices of toast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffed and swiveled in his chair. “But don’t any of you want to watch him make his way towards, uh, what’s that lobster-claw shaped country?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur immediately tossed his slices of bread into the oven before loping out of the kitchen. He stopped behind Tommy and answered, “That’s Luxembourg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, I’d call you insufferable if I didn’t want you to tutor me in geography,” snarked Techno.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From behind the three, Phil sidled up and decided to join the semicircle of people gathered around Tommy. “Has he made his way to us yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope, not yet,” answered Tommy. He clicked the buttons at the top-right of his screen, looking over the world map intently. “Britain is up next. Who’d have thought that the US gets presents last?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno leaned back and scoffed. “As if we’ve been a good country recently,” he mused. “How naughty is—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil shushed the pink-haired man, chiding, “No politics when the little boy is watching Santa fly around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” protested Tommy, crossing his arms. His pout was audible as he continued: “I thought that some people would enjoy seeing this site.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Aw, Tommy, it is fun. We’re just being mean for fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil yawned. He shifted to sit on the table and asked, “Are we allowed to go to bed yet? I heard that Santa doesn’t come by if you’re still up by midnight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe in Santa, okay?” sighed Tommy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno muffled his yawn. “We know, alright? It’s just that one of us needs the others to be asleep to stuff the stockings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded and stretched, letting his back pop as he raised his arms over his head. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed. I call dibs on the downstairs bathroom!” He grinned toothily as he walked off towards the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go do that, too. I want to be able to wake up early to open presents, alright?” proposed Phil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy got up, hesitating as his fatigue dragged him down. “I guess that’s smart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno grabbed Tommy, slinging the teen over his shoulder. “I don’t trust you to not fall down the stairs with the way you look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy made a noise of complaint, but let himself go limp and be carried into the rental house’s upstairs bedroom. After being tossed onto the bed, Tommy blurted, “I believed in Santa for a really long time. So I really like the Santa tracker thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with that,” answered Techno. He leaned on the dresser of the room. “I believed in Santa up until I was, like, five, so good on you for staying so innocent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur suddenly poked his head into the bedroom. Taking his toothbrush from his mouth, he mumbled, “That’s really sweet, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Argh, stop pitying me or whatever!” groaned Tommy, drawing the blankets up around himself. “Tell me tomorrow when Santa got to Brighton, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno laughed and nodded. “Sure, just get some rest.” He and Wilbur turned and shut the door gently, barely waiting to hear how Tommy’s breathing became rhythmic as the teen succumbed to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shook his head and smiled, voicing the thoughts Techno was trying his best to push down. “He’s just too easy to say ‘<em>aww</em>’ to, what with the Santa-believing and the letting someone tuck him in-ing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno nodded and added, “He’s at least more into the Christmas spirit than we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that the point of the holiday, though? To make you remember what it was like being a kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds about right.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'M DONE!!! i did it, and i even reached 20k words! i can't express how happy i am to have written so much and so consistently (shut up about the drabbles i expect you to repress those memories). this month has been challenging, but i really loved it. happy holidays to everyone and to all a new year! :3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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